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THE 



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TRANSATLANTIC POETRY. 



EMBRACING SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF 
PERCIVAL, BROOKS, AND OTHER POETS OF THE 
UMTEB STATES OF AMERICA. 



GLASGOW: 

182a 



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Xntrotrtsrtuw. 



It may not be superfluous to premise that the pre- 
sent Volume is not a mere reprint of an American 
Work, but a Selection from the Poetical Writings 
of several Authors who have won distinction in 
their own country, though hitherto little known 
in Europe. 

The Poem of " Ontwa" was originally publish- 
ed in a separate form. The Author, who does 
not avow himself, is evidently an admirer of our 
countryman, Sir Walter Scott, whose style he has 
closely imitated. In itself an interesting tale, it 
is rendered more so, by the valuable information 
contained in the Notes which are appended. 

The " Poems of James Godwin Brooks, Esq. 
have never before appeared in a collected shape.-— 
They were published from time to time in the 
American Journals, and through that fugitive me- 
dium obtained a popularity as extensive as well 
merited. By the kindness of the Author, they 
were communicated to the Editor of this Work by 
a mutual friend. Mr. Brooks is a young gentle- 
man of great promise, was educated for the Bar, 
and lately conducted a popular Literary periodical 
in New- York, entitled " The Athenaeum." He 
is now one of the Editors of the New- York 
" Morning Courier," a daily Paper. 



4 INTRODUCTION. 

James G. Percival holds a high place among 
the Poets of America. His writings are not al- 
together unknown in this country, though the 
Poems emhraced in the present Selection are al- 
most entirely so. They are chiefly taken from 
two volumes published by him at different periods. 
Mr. Percival is now, or was lately, the Editor 
of a Literary Gazette, published in Boston or Phi- 
ladelphia. 

The " Poems of the late Henry Denison," 
were communicated in manuscript to the Editor, 
by a friend of the deceased, who accompanied them 
with a Biographical Sketch, to which we refer for 
further particulars regarding this talented young 
man, who was prematurely cut off in the bloom of 
youth and mental vigour. 

Mr. Robertson, who has contributed for this 
Work several interesting pieces, is Editor of a Sa- 
vannah Newspaper. 



Contents 



ONTWA, THE SON OF THE FOREST. 

Tage, 

Part First, 5 

Second, 14 

Third, . 25 

Fourth, 39 

Fifth, 54 

Illustrations, 65 

POEMS BY JAMES GODWIN BROOKS, ESQ. 

To Time, 93 

To the Dying Year, 97 

The Mermaid's Song, 101 

To Cora, 103 

" When this dark spirit shall have flown," . 105 
" There is a hand which mine hath press'd, . 107 

To . "When the bloom of thy cheek," &c. 108 

Memory, 110 

Return of the Epervier, Ill 

The Stream of Hope, 112 

The Self- Murderer, 113 

To the Autumn Leaf, 115 

Greece, 118 

The Dying Soldier, 120 

The Requiem, 123 

" Thine eye of softened splendour," . . . 120 

The Spell, 127 

" Life hath its sunshine — but the ray," . . 128 
" A blight has crossed my early years,' . 129 



VI. CONTENTS. 

Page. 
" Like the red hues which morning throws," 131 

To the Opening Year, 132 

Man, 137 

The Albion, 141 

The Dawn of Liberty, 142 

To the Turkish Crescent, ...... 14G 

« A Man of Sorrows," 149 

To an accomplished Coquette, 153 

Freedom, 155 

" I saw her in Life's morning bloom," . . 157 
" There is a word that rends the heart, . . 158 

The Mind's Midnight, 160 

" When this feverish being shall slumber in 

rest," ib. 

To Cora, 162 

Sketch, No. 1 164 

No. II 165 

No. Ill 167 

Verses, written after viewing the Corpse of a 

young Lady, 168 

The Eagle, 171 

The Broken Heart, 172 

The Last Song, 173 

POEMS BY JAMES G. PERCIVAL, ESQ. 

The Wreck— A Tale, 177 

Ruins, 207 

A Tale, 211 

Night Watching, 215 

Love at Evening, 218 

" Silent she stood before me," 219 

Star of the Tensive, 220 



CONTENTS. vii. 

Page. 

O, there is a bliss in tears , 221 

Light of Love, ib. 

The Greek Emigrant's Song, 223 

Consumption, 224 

To the Houstonia Cerulea, 227 

The Coral Grove, 229 

" A Tulip blossomed, one morning in May," . 230 

" The fairest rose is far awa'," 232 

Often when at night delaying, 233 

Song. — 4 < O pure is the wind," 235 

The Land of the Blest, 237 

Retrospection, 238 

" Here the air is sweet," 240 

Home, 241 

Liberty to Athens, 243 

Evening, 245 

To the Moon, 246 

To an Infant, 247 

Female Loveliness, 248 

The Broken Heart, 249 

" Now the setting Sun is glowing," . . . 251 

Song of the Reim Kennar, 252 

The Pirate Lover, 254 

" There's a valley that lies, 256 

" The dark cloud is o'er," 257 

" They gazed upon each other," 258 

" I saw, on the top of a mountain high," . . 259 

" Again farewell," ib. 

Sonnet—" Farewell, sad flowers," .... 260 
" O ! had I the wings of a swallow," . . . ib. 
" Beneath the pensive willow's shade," . . 262 
Farewell to my Lyre, 263 



Vlii. CONTENTS. 

Page. 

THE POETICAL REMAINS OF THE LATE HENRY 
DENISON. 

Biographical Sketch, 267 

Why, Stranger, weep ! 271 

Woodville, 272 

The Christian's Reverie, 273 

Imitation of Horace, 10th Ode, Book II. . 275 
" I've fought and hied In honour's cause," . 276 

To an ancient Elm, 277 

The Miseries of Authors, 278 

" Why should I leave my native soil," &c, . 280 

Life, ib. 

To a Friend, 281 

Amaryllis' Complaint, ib. 

Sonnet.— To Cecilia, 283 

To Ianthe, 284 

POEMS BY GEORGE ROBERTSON, JUN., OF SAVANNAH, 
GEORGIA. 

The Soldier's Funeral, 287 

A Fragment, 288 

Farewell, ib. 

Ode for St. Andrew's Day, ...... 289 

To Mira, 290 

To Eliza, 291 

Serenade, 292 

Love's first Sigh, 293 

" I have lov'd thee," 294 

The Fallen Brave, ib. 

" Can the bosom find peace," 295 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

The King of the Bay, 297 

Stanzas. — " My life is like the summer rose," 299 
Answer.— (By a Lady of Baltimore,) . . 300 



ONTWA, 



THE 



§an tot if)t $MMt 



A POEM. 



i<H j 



c< II parle ainsi au bruit de l'onde, et au milieu de toute la 
solitude."— Chateaubriand. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The following brtef extracts contain almost the 
only historical traces of that tribe of Indians, whose 
catastrophe suggested the principal incidents of 
OnTwa. 

" About this time (16531 the Iroquois so effectually ex'ter* 
minated a nation called the Eries, that no traces of them 
now remain ; nor could it be known that they ever had ex- 
isted, were it net for the great lake, on the borders of which 
they were situated, and which, for that reason, still bears 
their name. The Iroquois, at the beginning of the war, were 
worsted; but they pursued it with such unrelenting fury, as 
to effect the catastrophe we have mentioned." — Wynne's Ge- 
neral History of the British Empire in America, V. I. p.SSJ-, 

" Ce fut a peu pres dans ce terns (1655) que le Iroquois 
acheverent de detruire la nation des Eriez, ou du Chat. Les 
commencements de cette guerre ne leur avoient pas ere fa- 
vourable ; raais ils ne rebuterent point, et ils prirent a la fin 
tellement le dessus, que sans le grand lac, que porte encore 
aujourd'hui le nom de cette nation, on ne scauroit pas rceme 
qu'elle eut existe." — Charlevoix, Histoire de la Nouvelle 
France, Tom I. p. 322. 

Both these accounts leave the residence of this 
tribe somewhat indeterminate. Charlevoix, in his 
maps, places it on the south side of Lake Erie — 
other old French maps place it on the north side, 
and even indicate the spot where the fatal battle 
was fought. The latter authority has been adopt- 
ed in the following work— whether correctly cr 
not, it is presumed to be of little consequence.-— 
The apparent anachronism of deciding Its fats b;> 



one single battle, when, perhaps, a series of actions 
were fought, may probably be likewise thought 
as unimportant. Such a supposition better sub- 
served the purposes of poetry ; and the obscurity 
of history seemed to admit of almost any latitude 
of conjecture. 

At the period here alluded to, the French mis- 
si oneries commenced their bold and generous pil- 
grimages among the remote tribes of the Ameri- 
can interior. It need scarcely be remarked, that 
it is one of those daring philanthropists, who is 
represented in the Introduction. 

With respect to the composition of Ontwa, the 
same remark may be applied to it which Chateau- 
briand applies to Atala, that " it was written in 
the desert, and under the huts of the savages."— 
This circumstance, however, can give it no cor- 
respondent merit with that beautiful and pathetic 
little work, other than the chance of being equal- 
ly faithful in the description of aboriginal manners 
and scenes. The tradition on which the story of 
Ontwa is founded, unavoidably led to an apparent 
adoption of one of the incidents of Atala. With- 
out anticipating a charge of plagiarism, it may 
perhaps be confessed, that, in this instance, an 
attempt was made to imitate its eloquent author. 



ONTWA. 



fart dffr*t 



INTRODUCTION. 

Pilgrim from transatlantic climes, 
Of elder race and elder times, 
Where age on age had roll'd around 
In hemispheric circle bound, 
Unconscious that a sister sphere, 
Revolving through the same career 
And glowing 'neath the same bright sun, 
Had still concurrent age* run,— 

I launch'd before the western gales, 
(Dilating now a thousand sails,) 
Which, ere th* immortal Genoese 
Had dared to span unmeasured seas 
In search of worlds kis mighty mind 
Alone conceived the hope to find, 
Had idly swept a rolling waste 
That pilot keel had never traced. 
No scheme sublime like his was mine — 
The balanced globe such grand design 
Excludes again — and his great name, 
That fills the younger world with fame, 
Must still unrival'd stand, till earth 
Shall to new continents give birth. 

I sought no undiscovered shore 
Which prow had never touch'd before ; 
Nor wish'd presumptuous course to urge 
Beyond De Gama's daring verge— 



6 ONTflTA. 

Nor yet, like Magalhaen, to rim 
Still following round the setting sun, 
Till my bold keel should leave a trace 
Folding the globe in its embrace. 
No — 'twas a spirit mild and meek, 
That objects less sublime would seek : 
I sought the Indian of the wild, 
Nature's forlorn and roving child— 
Already driven, from shores afar 
Where once be bore the chase and war, 
To Western Lakes : those seas confined,. 
Which ancient deluge left behind 
When the vast floodgates of the land, 
Unable longer to withstand 
The rolling waste, crumbled away 
And gave the sweeping ruin play- 
Leaving the wide interior drain'd 
Save where these remnant floods remain'd. 

I ask'd the red man for my guide : 
He launch 'd his bark on Erie's tide,-— 
Through all the liquid chain we ran, 
O'er Huron's wave, and Michi'gan, 
Veering amid her linked isles 
Where the mechanic beaver toils, — * 
Still floating on, in easy way 
Into her deep indented Bay,f 
Through rocky isles whose bolder forms 
Are chafed and fritter'd down by storms, 

* Now called the Bearer Islands — in Lake Michi-egan, (or 
Great Lake,) as named by the natives. 

f Called Green Bay, whose mouth is almost closed by a 
chain of islands, called the Grand Traverse. Their sides are 
high, rocky, and bold; and, being of limestone, have been 
worn iuto a thousand fantastic shapes, which, even without 
the aid of fancy, assume the appearance described in the text, 



OflTWA. 7 

And, worn to steeps of varying shape 
That architectural orders ape, 
Show ruin'd column, arch and niche, 
And wall's dilapidated breach ; 
With ivy hanging from above, 
And plants below, that ruins love, 
Drooping in melancholy grace 
On broken frieze and mould'ring base ; 
While here and there, like drifts of snow, 
Amid the waves the white rocks show, 
Stripped of their soil and left all bare, 
As bones of islands bleaching there. 

Far up the lengthen'd bay we urge, 
To where the triple streams converge, 
And on its reedy head distil 
The tribute sent from distant hill- 
Now mounting up the sinuous bed 
Of Wagouche to its marshy head, 
We toil against the foamy leaps — * 
Or wind where still the current sleeps 
'Mid seas of grain,f the boon of heaven 
To steril climes in bounty given. 
At last we reach the narrow mound— 
The wide diverging waters bound — 
Where, almost mingling as they glide 
In smooth and counter-current tide, 
Two rivers turn in sever'd race, 
And flow, with still enlarging space, 
Till one rolls down beneath the north 
And pours its icy torrent forth, 

* Called Saults by the inhabitants-«-and sometimes Chutes. 
"La Grande Chute" is here alluded to. — Wagouche is one 
of the Indian names for the Fox river. It receives, just as it 
falls into the head of Green Bay, the addition of two rivers. 

f The Fols-avoine — fatua avena, or wild rice, which grows 
in great abundance in the Fox river. 



S ONTWA. 

While — glowing as it hurries on— 
The other seeks a southern zone.* 
Here, as the heaven dissolves in showers, 
The boon on either stream it pours, 
And the same sunbeams, as they stray, 
On both with light impartial play ; 
But onward as each current hies, 
New climes and sunder'd tropics rise, 
And, urging, growing, as they run, 
Each follows down a varying sun, 
Till, o'er her tepid Delta spread, 
The Michi-sipi bows her bead,— 
While Lawrence vainly strives to sweep 
His gelid surface to the deep. 
Scarce did the low and slender neck 
The progress of our passage check ; 
And ere our bark — which, dripping bore, 
The marks of rival waters o'er— 
Had lost in air its humid stain, 
'Twas launch'd, and floating on again— 
'Mid isles in willow'd beauty dress'd 
That deck' d Ouisconsin's yellow breast. 

The stream ran fast, and soon the scene 
Changed into frowns its smiles serene. 
Nature arose in troubled mood, 
And hills and cliffs, of aspect rude, 
Hoary with barrenness, save where 
The stunted cedar hung in air 
Fix'd in the rocks that beetled high, 
Darken'd the current rushing by— 
Oft choked and broken in its pass 
By mighty fragments' clogging mass, 

* The Portage of the Fox and Ouisconsin rivers, by which 
they are separated, is only a mile and a half. These rivers, 
though here nearly united, discharge their waters into the sea 
at points between three and four thousand miles apart. 



ONTWA* 

Severed, mayhap, by bolt of heaven, 
And down the steep in thunder driven* 

Our rapid bark, ere twice the day 
Had shone upon its downward way, 
Turn'd its light prow, in upward course, 
To stem the Miclii-sipi's force- 
Where her broad wave rolls on amain, 
Sever'd by " thousand isles'* in twain, 
And giant cliffs, with threatening frown, 
Conduct her prison'd current down. 
Full many a stream, on either side, 
Through the cleft walls sends forth its tide, 
Descending far from distant plains, 
Where in its gloom the Prairie reigns, 
Seated in grandeur on its throne 
Amid a desert world alone. 
Oft up the steeps, by rugged path 
Sloped by the winter torrent's wrath, 
We toil'd, where high the sumach hung, 
And tendril vines around it clung, 
Checking our way with woven bowers, 
Or twining over head their flowers ; 
While higher still, in dizzier break, 
The trembling aspen tree would shake-— 
And oft the wand'ring eye would meet 
With sparkling crystals 'neath the feet, 
Rudely enchased on some dark stone 
Shining with lustre not its own. 
Hard the ascent, but fair the sight 
That spread beneath the lofty height, 
Where river, isles, and meadows drew 
Their varied pictures to the view,-— 
Or would the downward eye forbear 
To dwell on scene so soft and fair, 
'Twas but to raise a level glance 
And all was rude and bold at once, 
A 2 



10 ONTWA. 

Where the dark Bluffs, half bare, half crown'd, 
Arose in gloomy sternness 'round. 

For many a day the stream was stemm'd, 
Through isles that still its bosom gemm'd, 
While oft, where back the clifts retired, 
The waving plain, in green attired, 
Smiled in the dark and deep recess, 
Like guarded spot in wilderness ; 
(Where Hamadryades might sport, 
Or Fairies hold their dewy court.) 

At last our bark, 'mid eddies toss'd 
And foam that all the wave emboss'd, 
Was warn'd — ere yet the torrent's roar 
Was heard— ito turn its keel ashore. 
Now clambering up the steep ascent, 
Our course along the brink was bent, 
Where the descending, broken flood, 
On rocks that firm its force withstood, 
Show'd signs of mightier conflict near 
Whose rumblings now rose on the ear. 

Why checks my guide on yonder rise, 
And bends to earth in mute surprise, 
As the Great Spirit of the air 
Had burst upon his vision there ? 
'Twas the vast Cataract* that threw 
Its broad effulgence o'er his view, 
Like sheet of silver hung on high 
And glittering 'neath the northern sky. 
Nor think that Pilgrim eyes could dwell 
On the bright torrent as it fell, 
With soul una wed. We look'd above 
And saw the wavelet channel move,. 

* The Fa's of St. Anthony, first discovered and named ty 
Father Hemnipen. 



ONTWA. \l 

Fill'd from the fountains of the north 
And sent through varied regions forth, 
Till, deep and broad and placid grown, 
It comes in quiet beauty down, 
Unconscious of the dizzy steep 
O'er which its current soon must sweep, 
(The eye hangs shudd'ring on the brink, 
As it had powerless wish to shrink,) 
Then plunging low mid foam and spray, 
All the bright sheet in ruin lay. 
The tumult swells, and on again 
The eddying waters roll amain, 
Still foaming down in angry pride, 
Till mingling rivers smooth its tide. 
Nor did the isle, whose promont wedge 
Hangs on the torrent's dizzy edge, 
Escape the view ; nor sister twin 
That smiles amid the nether din — 
Closed in the raging flood's embrace, 
And free from human footstep's trace ; 
Where the proud Eagle builds his throne, 
And rules in majesty alone.* 
Approaching still, and more entranced 
As stili the lingering step advanced, 
We stood at last in pleased delay 
O'erlooking all the bright display, 
While the gay tints of western flame 
That down the day's obliqueness came, 
On hanging sheet and level stream 
Darted a soft and slanting beam. 
While thus we paused, bent o'er a rock 
Whose tremors own'd the general shock, 
The wand'ring vision chanced to meet— 
Fix'd like a statue on its seat 

* Carver says that the small island, at the foot of these 
Falls, is inaccessible to man and beast, and that almost every 
tree upon it sustains the eyry of an eagle. 



i 9 ONTWA. 

Of jutting fragments, whither flew 
The torrent spray in silvery dew— 
An Indian form. No motion told 
That 'twas not some unbreathing mould 
Which savage chisel might have traced 
And near the sacred cascade* placed. 
We nearer drew, when clearer sight 
Truly betray 'd a living wight- 
Yet lost so deep in musings wild, 
And by the torrent so beguiled, 
That scarce his breathings seem'd his own, 
But motion caught from trembling stone. 
Hail'd by my guide, in well-known tongue, 
He turn'd, and back his dark locks flung, 
liaising an eye — though now sunk deep 
By woes, perhaps too strong to weep — 
That still shone forth with ray intense, 
As wont a spirit to condense, 
Whose ardent energies have felt 
All that could fire, or rend, or melt. 
Familiar speech and forest guise 
Appear'd to wake but short surprise ; 
And calmly he had turn'd again 
To fall anew in musing train, 
When his fierce eye just caught the trace 
Of white man in the Pilgrim's face. 
Reviving mem'ry seem'd to read 
Some story there, of woe or dread ; 
Quickly, as if his brain were fired 
With anguish that the view inspired, 
And his worn form no more could bear 
The struggles of some deep despair, 
lie sunk to earth in prostrate grief 
Ere friendly arm could give relief. 

* The Indians believe the Falls of St. Anthony to be the 
1 evidence of the Great Spirit. 



ONTWA. 13 

What boots it that the tale should say 
What hours or suns were pass'd away 
In soothing kindness by the guide, 
With pitying Pilgrim by his side, 
Ere that the Forest son arose 
And told his tale of many woes> 



ONTWA. 



part Jjwmixf, 



Last of my tribe — a mighty race !— - 
My wandering feet have sought this place, 
Where the Great Spirit rolls his wave, 
To find a lone and sacred grave. 
Why does the welcome hour delay, 
That sends my wearied soul away ? 
When will the thund'ring waters close 
Over the last of Erie's woes, 
And waft down Ontwa to the land 
Where, risen again, the Erie band 
On brighter streams and fairer plain 
Renew the war and chase again ?.* 

There my great sire, with chiding eyes, 
Impatient turns to upper skies 
And asks the tardy hour to come, 
That brings his ling'ring offspring home. 
He counts his tribe — still misses one, 
And seeks in vain his absent son,— • 
The last sad remnant of his kind, 
Condemn'd to wander yet behind. 
But oh ! a spirit still more fair 
Awaits to welcome Ontwa there, — 

* The Indians have but vague notions of their posthumous 
destiny; but as they believe the sports most valued in this 
life, such as war and the chase, are continued after death, 
they generally place their heaven either within the earth, or 
in some distant place upon it, as being better suited to such 
occupations than the undefined regions above. 



ONTWA. 15 

Whose beauty, sprung from eastern light, 
Just glitter'd on my forest sight, 
Then sunk, alas ! in sudden night. 

Why should my gloomy soul recall, 
Or Ontwa's love, or Erie's fall ? 
But 'tis my vow to bear my grief, 
Nor seek the balsam of relief, 
I've sworn to wear th' envenom'd dart 
Still rankling in my aching heart, 
And join my love on plains below, 
With all the anguish of my woe ; 
Nor bear one thought whose cheering ray; 
Might gleam upon my darkling way, 
Or chance to break the sacred gloom 
That shrouds my passage to the tomb. 
'Twill but revive a deeper wail,— 
Then why refuse to tell my tale? 
Haply the shrunken cords of life— 
Too weak to bear the inward strife— * 
May sever ere the tale shall close : 
Would that I thus could meet repose, 
And with one agonizing sigh 
Breathe out my many woes, and die. 

Scarce twice twelve seasons now have shed 
Their bloom, or blight, on Ontwa's head. 
My sire, Kaskaskia, reign' d supreme 
O'er all the tribes on hill and stream, 
From distant Huron's stormy shore 
To where Niagara's thunders roar ; 
While Erie and Ontario's wave, 
To swell his power, their tribute gave, 
And oft had borne to shores afar 
His thousand barks in daring war. 
Deep in the centre of his bands, 
On lefty height, which far commands, 



13 ONTWA. 

He placed his smoke,* whose rising spire 
For ever told Kaskaskia's fire. 

Here oft the grand debate arose 
Which doom'd the fate of neighboring foes ; 
And here, to warm the listening young 
And nerve their hearts but newly strung, 
The old, exposing all their scars, 
Would tell the tale of Erie's wars ; 
Till, like a tipp'd and feather'd dart 
Ready from bended bow to start, 
Their youthful hearts would pant to wear 
The trophied skin of elk or bear, 
And see the foe, in fancied fight, 
Already conquer' d, or in flight. 

A mighty oak, whose spreading arms 
Had stood the brunt of tempest harms, 
Unnumber'd snows,f and still could bring 
Its verdant tribute to the spring, 
Upon the highest summit stood, 
A beacon 'midst the sea of wood : 
Some grey and splinter'd boughs were seen 
Shooting athwart its ample green,— 
Not the hoar emblems of decay, 
But wrecks of lightning's wrathful play. 
Scars on a brow too often driven 
Against the warring powers of heaven. 
No other tree nor shrub was there ; 
The hill-top else were bleak and bare ; 
And save the scanty moss which grew 
Beneath the shade its foliage threw, 

* A fire, or smoke, in the figurative language of the sa~ 
vages, denotes a residence or settlement. 

t The savages number the lapse of years by snows, or win- 
ters. 



ONTWA, 17 

No green relieved the rocky waste 
Which round its brow a fillet traced, 
Like mighty band of wampum,* spread 
Around a giant's plumed head. 

Now had the hazel given its dief 
Full eighteen springs to Ontwa's eye, 
And this young arm, with growing nerve, 
Had learnt the twanging bow to serve, 
And many a deer had lent its horn 
My sportive triumphs to adorn ; 
When, 'mid his chiefs, I saw my sire 
Awake on high the council fire. 
And, as the dark ascending smoke 
Curl'd upwards round the lofty oak, 
He rose amid the circling crowd 
With eye severe, shook off the shroud— 
A skin of Buffalo— that dress'd 
The broad dimension of his breast ; 
And while the hand that grasps the bow 
Braced 'round the ample folds below, 
The arm that guides the arrow hung 
All free to aid his speaking tongue. 
Ere that the deep 3nd labouring speech, 
As slow to rise, his lips could reach, 
His lofty gesture led the eye 
To send a trembling glance on high. 
While yet, as with a powerful charm, 
Each feeling hung upon his arm, 
A mountain cloud was seen to rise 
Fast from the depths of eastern skies, 
Like mighty barrier in the way, 
Threat'ning to close the gates of day. 

* The Wampum is made of strings of beads, which the 
Indians use for purposes of ornament, &c. 

f The predominant colour of the Indian's eye is a dark 
hazel. 



18 t)NTWA. 

Its towering peak and spreading base, 

Still rolling up the azure space, 

With fast increasing horrors grew ; 

Till half the heavens were veil'd from view, 

And day's broad eye, closed in a frown, 

No longer on the world look'd down. 

Unmoved, alone Kaskaskia stood, 

And all the spreading fury view'd 

With steady eye, while the bright glare 

Of forked lightning seam'd the air. 

With voice, that still was loudly heard 

Amid the turbulence that stirr'd 

The heavens to war, he thus express'd 

The dark forebodings of his breast. 

" Three times the east, array'd in storms, 

Has fill'd my dreams with deep alarms ; 

Three times this cloud, in vision'd wrath, 

Has darkly cross'd my dreaming path, 

While the Great Spirit, as it pass'd, 

Has spoke in thunders from the blast. 

Know, mighty chiefs, the hour is come 

That threatens Erie's final doom. 

The evil Manitou* this hour 

Leads hitherward a mighty power— 

A power of overwhelming might — 

Which coming from the fount of light, 

By white man's vengeful arm oppress'd, 

Seeks out a refuge in the west. 

Great Saranac, whose skill and force 

Tower supreme like eagle's course, 

Leads on the first ; and many a band 

Is leagued beneath his strong command,— 

All sworn to quench their ancient fires 

Where sleep the ashes of their sires, 

.* Manitou means Spirit, as Michi-Manitou— Great S- 
-r«ad Kichi- Manitou, Evil Spirit. 



ONTWA. 19 

Nor ask again the kindling sun 

Till Erie's forest shores be won. 

Already by the fa v 'ring wind 

They leave the Iroquois* behind, — 

And plying still the active oar, 

Sweep up Ontario's farther shore, 

Resolved to cross as soon as sight 

Shall catch the view of adverse height :f 

Perchance already o'er the lake 

Their bold and hostile course they take. 

Thus the Great Spirit, in my dreams, 
Spoke 'mid the stormy lightning's gleams ; 
And now again he speaks to all, 
Darkly foretelling Erie's fall. 
Yon rolling cloud, which low'ring spreads* 
Suspending ruin o'er our heads, 
Ere long will give its thunders birth, 
And bound in fury to our earth : — 
Thus Saranac with hostile bands 
Will soon descend on Erie's lands. 
But though it be the doom of Heaven, 
Shall Erie hence be tamely driven, — 
Cut off from hill* our sires have ranged 
Till seasons have, forgotten, changed, 
And countless snows, like marks of time, 
Have melted from their peaks sublime ? 
Shall we unstring the stubborn bow, 
And all our ancient chase forego, 
The Erie's boon since times far gone, 
When the huge mammoth overthrown* 
For proudly daring Heaven to war, 
O'er the great waters fled afar ? 

* The Indian name of the St. Lawrence, 
f From the heights of Queenston may be. seen those of 
York, U. C. 



20 ONTWA. 

No ?— as this head would stand unbow'd 
Though yonder black and threatening cloud 
Should launch its heaviest bolt, and make 
This hilUtop to its centre shake- 
So shall Kaskaskia raise his arm 
To shield you from impending harm." 

While yet his arm, of nervous strength, 
Was raised aloft in daring length, 
The ruptured cloud sent forth a flash 
Which, ere the warning thunder's crash 
Was heard, in crackling fury broke 
On the broad frontlet of the oak. 
Prostrate the crowd in tremor sunk, 
Clinging to rocks that quaked and shrunk. 
Nor saw, till from the hills around 
Echo return' d her faintest sound, 
That still Kaskaskia held his brow 
Erect beneath the awful blow : 
And though his arm, which had been raised 
Just as the vivid lightning blazed, 
Now, wither'd, by his quiver hung 
Like hunter's nervous bow unstrung; 
Yet high was fix'd his steady eye 
On the fierce conflict of the sky, 
As he would mock, in proud despair, 
The fate proclaim'd in thunder there. 

With proud, yet pitying eye, he saw 
The crowd dejected thus with awe, 
And, half reproving, bade them rise, 
Nor sink beneath the angry skies. 
" Let not the Erie warrior droop- 
Arise, to war — with fellest whoop ! 
Speed ! Every chief his subjects wake ! 
The barbed dart and war club take — 



ONTWA. 21 

And, on those heights which catch the ray 

Of blue Ontario's setting day, 

Collect and hold your faithful bands ; 

There wait your coming chief's commands,-— 

Nor will Kaskaskia's eagle plume 

Fail at the signal hour to come. 

Mean-time, from lofty capes where raves 

The whirlwind over Erie's waves, 

I'll seek, amid the howling storm, 

The Manitou's appalling form ; 

And learn from blasts the deepest fate 

Which Erie's fortunes may await." 

He ceased — when every chief in haste 
His quiver hung, and wampum braced, 
And o'er his shoulders loosely spread 
His skin, as if for march of speed, — 
And then, like herd of scatter'd deer, 
Surprised by ambush'd hunter near, 
That bounding off in antler'd pride 
Flies to the wood on every side, 
They darted down the hill amain 
And soon were crossing level plain— 
Their feather'd crests, in buoyant graces- 
Dancing with every springing pace, 
Marking afar their various ways 
Till lost within the woody maze. 



" Ontwa ! the lightning lent its gleam 
But to confirm Kaskaskia's dream ; 
Three times the Manitou has given 
My dreaming ear the will of heaven ; 
Yet shall Kaskaskia never yield 
Save in the bloody battle field. 



22 ONTWA. 

Springing from lands which stretch afar 

Where coldly shines the moveless star, 

Erie's bold race by conquest won 

These milder regions of the sun. 

A proud and mighty race — so says 

Tradition of fprgotten days — 

Then ruled these Lakes ; with cunning blest 

In arts and arms o'er all the west, — • 

As still appears from square and line 

Of warlike aspect and design, 

Whose lengthen'd trench and mound enseam 

The banks of many a winding stream, 

Muskinghum and Ohio fair, 

Spreading o'er plain and hillock there— 

Though worn and crumbled now by time, 

And bearing trees, of height sublime, 

Offspring, perhaps, of elder shade 

That there has flourish'd and decay'd. 

" The Erie bands, though all unskilPd 
In arts and arms and trenched field— 
Nor other shield or weapon knew 
Than naked breast and arrow true, 
Yet far in strength and valour rose 
Above their more experienced foes. 
Full many snows on hill and plain 
Descended and dissolved again, 
Ere that the contest, fierce and long, 
Between the skilful and the strong, 
Was closed ; and many a mound may still 
Be seen on time-worn plain and hill, — 
Once red with blood, — that raouid'ring tell 
Where thousands fought, and thousands fell. 
At last, great Areouski's* might 
Was leagued with Erie in the fight— 

* The Indian god of war. 



ONTWA, 25 

Who drove afar the remnant bands 
To find new homes in other lands, 
And leave to victor foes the spoil 
Of lakes and streams and shaded soil. 
Here, Ontwa, have Kaskaslda's sires 
For ages raised their council fires — 
And shall we yield these lands unfought, 
So long preserved, so dearly bought? 
No— Erie's smokes shall still arise, 
And curl amid her native skies : 
And when they sink — with the last flame 
Let perish Erie's race and name. 

" One duty, Ontwa, yet remains : 
This weapon, red with bloody stains,* 
Must Erie's bold defiance speak 
To Saranac : him must thou seek. 
Should Saranac the pledge receive, 
And still thy life and freedom leave, 
Like mountain deer, thy footsteps turn 
To heights where Erie's fires shall burn : 
Fix in thy crest this heron plume, 
Which none but warriors e'er assume, 
Or messengers, like thee, who go 
With bold defiance to the foe. 

" Thy quiver is already hung— 
Quick let thy slacken'd bow be strung. 
The foe — so said my three-fold dream- 
Debarks beside Niag'ra's stream : 
Nor gloomy night, nor sultry day, 
Nor streams, nor wood, must cause delay : 
The shrub must yield thy scanty food, 
Thy hasty sleep must be in wood, 

* Carver says that the Indians, when they declare war, 
eend a blood-stained weapon as a signal. The messenger is 
generally a slave, who is often killed in the errand. 



24 ONTWA, 

Thy pace must leave the deer behind 
And follow up the fleetest wind — 
Lest thou shouldst fail the feast to share, 
Our gath'ring bands will soon prepare, 
To fit the soul for battle deed 
And teach the warrior how to bleed. " 

Kaskaskia ceased— when, like the dart, 
Was Ontwa's plumage seen to part. 
The craggy hill-top soon was clear'd, 
The plain was past, the forest near'd ; 
While feelings new to youthful breast 
Waked in my heart a warlike zest, 
And tossing high my plumed head 
More proud became my bounding tread, 
When oft the nervous bow was bent 
And feath'ry arrow forward sent, 
To try my fleet and rival pace 
In contest with its winged race. 



ONTWA. 



Ptrt Cj&frtr. 



The sultry day — for 'twas the moon* 
When day ascends to highest noon- 
Went slowly down,— the shadows deep 
First o'er the sunken valleys sweep, 
Then gradual climb the peaked hill 
Where yellow twilight lingers still : — 
But Ontwa's step no falt'ring knew, 
And still press' d on as day withdrew. 

The night was now at top of heaven, 
Tiie stars had half their lustre given ; 
And oft the night bird, as her eye 
Was musing on the silent sky, 
Scared at the noise of hasty rush 
That dash'd aside the stubborn bush — 
Unlike the wolf in wily round, 
Or wildcat's far but noiseless bound- 
Had risen aloft and with her screams 
Disturb'd the stilly hour of dreams. 
At last, among the shadows near, 
The glide of water caught my ear : 
O ! what a charm to lips that thirst, 
Has rippling water's sudden burst ! 
Long had my wearied pathway led, 
Through wilds that then exhausted spread, 

* June.—-The Indians reckon months by moons, generally 
designating them by some appropriate appellation, such as 
the hunting moon, the sultry moon, &t\ 



26 ONTWA, 

Where streamlets, dying at their source,, 
To mossy rocks had left their course, 
And dews, which on the foliage hung, 
Alone had cool'd my fever'd tongue. 

There, 'neatb the trees whose hanging shade 
More dark the murm'ring current made, 
And, as the breeze pass'd o'er, would seem 
To kiss, with loving bough, the stream, 
Prone on my breast I lay, and gave 
My thirsting fever to the wave. 
"While thus reposing on the ground, 
List'ning to every passing sound, 
W T ith eyes intent upon the wood 
Where soon my march must be renew*d ? 
A stately deer, from adverse side, 
Kush'd down to quaff the cooling tide. 
"' Drink on," I said, " nor fear my bow 
Will lay thy branching antlers low ; 
Like thee was Ontwa glad to dip 
In cooling wave his parched lip." 

While thus I musing said, methought 
His watchful eye some object caught ; 
And soon, around a point which bent 
The river from its straight deseent, 
Appeared a red and flick'ring flame 
Which downward with the current came*— 
As if some spirit of the stream 
Had lighted up a friendly beam, 
To guide the waters on their way, 
While 'neath the hills should sleep the day— » 
With one foot raised, as if for flight, 
And head erected tow'rds the light, 
He stood ; fix'd by the dazzling charm a 
Ail thoughtless of the ambush'd harm, 



ONTWA. 27 

Till twanging bow and arrow speeding 
Laid him upon the pebbles bleeding.* 
From light canoe, the torch that bore, 
A hunter leap'd upon the shore, 
Half pleased half sorrowful survey'd 
The victim that his dart had made : 
And as he glided off again 
He raised the wild and simple strain. 

Ah, hapless deer ] 

Thy fleet career 

Will ne'er again 

Skim o'er the plain, 
Nor up the breezy mountain; 

And at the dawn, 

Thy doe and fawn 

Will vainly seek 

Thee on the creek, 
And near the gurgling fountain. 

'Twas Chanta's eye 

That bade thee die, 

For her I rove 

A slave to love, 
Condemn'd to float the river, 

Till branching horn 

My bark adorn, 

Or blood of doe 

Rest on my bow, 
And spot my stainless quiver. 

* During the summer months, the Indians hunt the deet 
on the rivers : The insects drive them into the water, and the 
hunter, floating down under the cover of night, with a torch 
in the bow of his canoe, comes upon the animal while he is 
gazing bewildered at the light, and gives the fatal wound err 
he is aware of any danger. 



28 ONTWA. 

(Think not the heart in desert bred 

To passion's softer touch is dead, 

Or that this shadowy skin contains 

No bright and animated veins— 

Where, though no blush its course betrays. 

The blood in all its wildness plays.) 

'Mid drooping trees and dusky night 

Soon disappear'd the bark and light, 

And paddle's dip and hunter's lay 

At last in murmurs died away. 

As rising from my bed of moss, 
The stream, now still again, to cross, 
My thoughts pursued the hunter boy 
So full of triumph, love, and joy. 
" Cast in the stream thy brindled prize, 
Nor seek a smile in Chanta's eyes,— 
No more shall chase of deer or love 
The keenness of thy arrow prove : 
The sounds of war already fill 
The wigwams of thy native hill, 
And Chanta's voice, that bade thee stain 
Thy spotless dart in deer-blood slain, 
Must bid thee take a nobler bow 
And meet in bloodier field the foe." 

The stream was pass'd — and fresh from rest, 
Again through length'ning wilds I prest, 
Dripping with damps of stream and dew, 
Till peep of morn broke on the view. 
I stay'd a moment on the height 
Where blue Ontario meets the sight, 
And when the star of day arose 
Refresh'd and bright from long repose, 
Methought the broad and polish'd wave 
Some brief and distant glimpses gave 



GNTWA. 29 

Of barks, or shadows moving there,— 
But soon 'twas lost amid the glare. 
Onward I pass'd, now plunging down 
The shelving steep from summit's crown ; 
Now breaking through the deep ravine, 
Where light of day is dimly seen, 
And tangled trees and rocky path 
Show signs of winter's loosen'd wrath ; 
Now scaling high the steep again, 
And ranging o'er the lofty plain, 
Where oft the bold projecting brow 
Gave fleeting glimpse of Lake below. 

Thus grew and died the toilsome day, 
And night had darken'd o'er the way, 
When, rising on my full career, 
Niag'ra's waters struck the ear. 
Soon on those Heights my feet were stay'd, 
Where first its mighty plunge was made — * 
(So spoke Kaskaskia's tale of times 
When Erie's race first won these climes,) 
By yawning gu^f now sever'd wide, 
Where darkly rolls its present tide, 
In broken whirlpools sweeping by, 
Still fainter murm'ring as they fly, 
Till on the distant plain they cease 
And seek the Lake in limpid peace. 
From scenes below, now wrapp'd in night, 
Slight gleams broke quiv'ring on my sight, 
And myriad sounds, like distant hum, 
By fits upon the ear would come ; 
While gazing still, soft slumbers stole 
On wearied limbs and anxious soul. 

* It is a generally received hypothesis, that the Falls of 
Niagara began their retrogression at the Heights of Queens- 
ton. 



30 ONTWA. 

The dreaming world before me spread, 

And onward still I seem'd to tread : 

Till arrows, sped with every breath, 

Had closed my path with wounds and death ; 

When low ! a form, of brighter hue 

Than Indian vision ever knew, 

Threw round a shield of snowy charms, 

And turn'd aside the threat'ning harms. 

I knelt to worship ; but methought 

Her face the beams of morning caught, 

And, gath'ring still increasing rays, 

Soon shone in all the sun's broad blaze ! 

I woke, — and saw the risen sun 

Already high his course had run : 

Springing elastic from the ground, 

I gazed in doubt and wonder 'round ! 

And still with partly dreaming eyes 

Look'd on the plain, the stream and skies. 

But soon was fix'd my wand'ring glance 
On far Ontario's broad expanse — 
Like polish'd wall, half raised on high, 
Leaning against the hollow sky, 
There burst Kaskaskia's dream to view, 
The dream inspired by Manitou ! 
On Michi-saki's point arose 
The smokes of Erie's thousand foes ; 
Then were the barks, still plying o'er, 
Confusedly crowding on the shore, 
Tv\ all the strand, like swarming hive, 
With hum and tumult seem'd alive. 
High o'er the rest, a lofty smoke 
The fire of Saranac bespoke ; 
Where fancy pictured forth his form, 
Like Areouski 'mid the storm, 
Gath'ring his bolts, to wreak his ire 
On Erie's race and Ontwa's sire. 



GNTWA. ZX 

How fired my spirit at the sight ! 

And plunging down the lofty Height, 

Soon from its base, my winged speed 

Was sweeping through the wood and mead. 

The wily scout was often seen, 

Winding his way through thickets green, 

To make the lofty Height his stand, 

Whence he might spy approaching band. 

Soon grew the nearer tumult loud, 

Of jarring sounds and bustling crowd, 

And every noise that met the ear 

Gave signal that the camp was near. 

I hasten'd on, through deeper shade 

By interwoven tree-tops made, 

Where grass, uncheck'd by withering heat, 

Grew green and rank about the feet ; 

And alders, on the border side, 

Like verdant fringe, hung o'er the tide, 

Leaving the upward glancing ray 

Amid their leaves a broken play — 

Which, as it downward gleam' d, in vain 

Had strived an ent'ring pass to gain. 

Half ling'ring to enjoy the scene, 

The grateful shade and flow'ry green, 

And half to dress my heron crest 

Which hasty march had slight depress'd— - 

I loiter'd through the fair retreat, 

As if some charm detained my feet ; 

When lo ! on bed of roses there, 

A form, like bright Hahunah* fair, 

In slumber broke upon my sight ! 

Was it my dreaming vision bright ? 

Or, spirit sent from liquid cave 

Seneath Ontario's shining wave, 

* The Indian word for morning. 



32 ONTWA. 

To guide the favour 'd Saranac 
O'er the far billows of his track ? 

Her raven hair, half wreath'd, descended, 
And o'er her face like shadows blended ; 
Half veiling charms of fairer hue 
Than ever forest daughter knew. 
Such locks ne'er deck'd the desert child f 
Ne'er bloom 'd such cheeks in forest wild I 
Not that the skin of doe or fawn 
That o'er her fairer neck is drawn, 
And ail the rising breast conceals, 
Which Erie's daughter half reveals. 
Trembling, as in my dream I knelt, 
Asid all the awe of worship felt : — 
«' Bright spirit of the air or deep ! 
Let Ontwa guard thy morning sleep : 
This wild rose, blooming o'er thy rest, 
I'll pluck to decorate thy breast ; 
That kind propitious sweets may bear 
My name to visions rising there.'* 

I gazed, enchain'd by powerful spell. 

Till bow and dart forgotten fell, 

And Erie and invading host 

Were all in one deep feeling lost : 

I watch 'd the closing of her dreams 

To catch her eye's first opening beams ; 

The long dark lashes slowly rose, 

As all unwilling to disclose 

The light beneath : so fringed height 

Oft gives delay to morning's light. 

They broke, — but O ! 'twere vain, — how faint 

Were tints the gleam of star to paint ! 

What wonder, that my forest eye 

Should deem her spirit of the sky ? 



ONtWA. -35 

Or, doubt that the red Indian*s earth 

Could give such shining beauties birth ? 

My youthful ear had heard of race, 

With form enrobed and snowy face, 

Which, coming from the rising sun, 

O'er all the morning world had run ; 

But Ontwa never knew their blood 

Had beat in hearts that roved the wood, 

Nor that their fairer hues had shed 

Their lustre o'er our shadowy red. 

I said like dawn her slumbers pass'd, 

But soon that dawn was overcast ; 

The smile, her happy dreams had left, 

By terror was at once bereft— 

At sight of bold intruder there, 

Of stranger mien and frenzied air. 

Like frighted doe, with sudden start, 

She seized her ready bow and dart, 

And drawing home the feathery guard, 

Half turn'd, as if for flight prepared : 

The plumed death a moment stay'd, 

A moment was the flight delay'd, 

When, kneeling still — " Ah ! stay," I cried, 

" Blest spirit of the air or tide, 

Nor thus in angry terror shun 

Ontwa, the Chief of Erie's son : 

Bearing proud message from my race 

To Saranac, my erring pace 

Intruded on thy slumbers sweet ; 

1 knelt in homage at thy feet, 

And pluck'd a wild rose o'er thy head 

And on thy breast its odours spread, 

Propitious visions to inspire 

For Ontwa's race and Ontwa's sire." 

Her eye no longer bore a frown, 
Her bow, relax'd, was sinking down, 

B2 



34 ONTWA. 

And in relenting pause she stood — 
When arrow, sent from neighb'ring wood, . 
Half erring, sped its ambush'd harm 
And quiver' d in my bleeding ann. 
She sprang, she knelt, and as she drew 
The reeking barb and feather through, 
Her shining hair swept o'er my breast— 
Her hand upon my shoulder prest — 
Her cheek came near : What then was pain, 
My wilder' d feelings to restrain ? 
Ontwa had torment learnt to bear, 
But ne'er had look'd on cheek so fair ; 
What wonder then, the tempting bliss 
My lips should seize with daring kiss ? 

To draw the dart with pitying speed, 

And rise again at daring deed, 

And turn with proud reproachful look— 

Of time but briefest rmtoment took ; 

That moment past, the bowman came 

To follow up his arrow's aim — 

A Chief of lofty gait and mien 

With hasty steps approach'd the scene. 

" What foot has dared in slumb'ring hour 
To steal within Oneyda's bower ? 
Let second arrow truer fly — 
Thy stranger plume speaks lurking spy." 
The bow was fiercely bent again — 
And barb drawn back with nervous strain- 
When sudden slacks the vengeful draught, 
Lest loved Oneyda feel the shaft ; 
For then, just ere the arrow flew, 
Jn generous haste, her form she threw, 
To beg her father's warrior bow 
Would spare the blood of kneeling foe. 



ONTWA. ZS 

But Ontwa was not kneeling then, — 
Though all too late my bow had been 
To check the Chief's impetuous dart, 
Whose truer flight had reach'd my heart 
Had not the form, my vision gave, 
Been hov'ring near my life to save. 



Beneath an elm, whose spreading top 
Around like curtains seem'd to drop, 
Sate Saranac — while, on the ground, 
His myriad followers closed around : 
First aged chiefs, then warriors bold, 
Then youths allow'd their place to hold ; 
"While women, children, farther still, 
All join the circling group to fill — 
Where shaven head, and feather'd crest, 
And bow and club for battle dress'd, 
Of every form and hue appear, 
Like leaves that deck the dying year. 
Within this ring was Ontwa led 
Already doom'd to join the dead ; 
Condemn'd, by ling'ring pangs to die. 
As sentence due to lurking spy. 
Stern Saranac, in haughty gloom, 
Sate while a chief proclaim'd my doom ; 
The fair Oneyda leaning near, 
As if to ask a pitying ear, 
Bending her beauties o'er his form, 
Like sunshine on the brow of storm. 

Ere yet the guards had seized their prey, 
While mercy seem'd to ask delay, 
I raised my blood-stain' d pledge on high 
And cried— ".No spy, stern chief, am T. 



56 ONTWA. 

From great Kaskaskia, Ontwa's sire, 
I bring this pledge of Erie's ire.'* 

" Kaskaskia's son ! take back thy life — 
To lose it in a nobler strife. 
We come from other climes afar, 
New lands to seek for chase and war : 
Once on a Lake, whose lesser sweep 
Lies fix'd in mountain basin deep ;* 
Where green and lofty peaks arise 
Till blended with the deep blue skies, 
Long shutting Out the morning ray 
From waters that beneath them lay ; 
Raised Saranac his hundred fires 
Amid the ashes of his sires. 
But mightier race than ours has come 
And driven us from our ancient home, 
Where forest's bow — of game despoiled 
That seeks afar securer wild — 
And hill and plain, no more possess 
The charm and sport of wilderness. 
Not weak we come ; thou dost behold 
But half our chiefs and warriors bold : 
No breeze now stirs on yon blue Lake, 
That does not moving barks o'ertake, 
All plying fast the sail, or oar, 
To gain this designated shore : 
When all are come — prepared for fight— 
We hold our course up yonder Height, 
Where, should the Eries sue for peace, 
Our hostile march perchance may cease. — 
A warrior shall attend thee out 
To guard thee safe beyond our scout." 

" No guard does Ontwa want, nor guide ; 
With bow ani\ quiver by my side, 

* Luke Champlain. 



ONTWA. 37 

And step all used to forest maze, 
My march shall mock thy scout's keen gaze : 
Ere yon bright sun again shall rise 
And light anew the eastern skies, 
Drinking the dew-drop on the flower 
Shed there by evening's viewless shower, 
Ontwa the feast and dance will share, 
Which Erie's warriors now prepare ; 
Whose games such deadly thirst shall wake 
As blood of foe alone can slake." 

Then had my course, with sudden bound, 
Been speeding far from foeman's ground, 
And vainly through the thicket wood 
By step or vision been pursued ; 
When, like a daer whose ready start 
Is check'd by arrow through the heart, 
Half turn'd I stay'd, fix'd by the eye 
Of fair Oneyda hov'ring nigh. — 
A glance withheld my daring soul, 
And all my winged purpose stole : 
No more the image of my dream, 
Which fancy might a spirit deem, 
I saw her now of mortal birth, 
Though fairest child of Indian earth, 
And felt a new and throbbing heat 
Through every quick pulsation beat : 
'Twas the same throb that shook my breast 
When first I watch'd her dreaming rest ; 
But then methought that throb was given 
To spirit of the wave or heaven. 

What though a thousand warriors stood, 
Ready to spill presumptuous blood, 
Whose stranger love should dare disgrace 
The pride and blossom of their race ? 



56 ONTWA. 

I turned and knelt — and as I gazed, 

Saw not the myriad weapons raised 

To pierce my heart, — the threat'ning harm 

Was cheek'd but by Oneydas arm, 

That waved in pity o'er my form 

And stay'd midway the bursting storm.— 

'Twas but a moment's bliss I felt, 

'Twas but a moment that I knelt— 

I saw the anguish of her eye, 

The tender fear that bade me fly, 

And wildly seizing, as I pass'd, 

One short embrace — then deem'd the last— 

Ere sire could turn, or throng rush on, 

Ontwa, like lightning's flash, was gone. 



ONTWA. 



Part tfouvfij. 



Morn, through her arched gates of light, 
Nov/ follow'd up the shadow's flight, 
And shed from ruddy clouds a glow 
That gilded wood and lake below ; 
When on my sight all dimly broke 
The glimpse of distant tent and smoke. 
The rugged hill uprose in vain, 
And vainly spread the lengthen'd plain, 
To check my fleet and eager way : 
Then, as the sun's first level ray 
Burst on Kaskaskia's waking view, 
That ray presented Ontwa too. 
He calmly heard my errand done- 
Unmoved he saw the peril run ; 
For stern composure, full of thought, 
Had to his mien submission taught, 
And bliss or wo pass'd o'er his mind, 
Nor light nor shadow left behind : 
Or if his iron forehead e'er 
Betray 'd a feeling less severe, 
'Twas like the wintry sun's faint glow 
That leaves more hard the front of snow. 

Now gathers round the warlike throng, 
Prepared for feast and dance and song ; 
The fire awakes and curls on high, 
And whoops ascend the hollow sky, 



40 ONTWA. 

While many a faithful Aleem* bleeds 
To fit the soul for battle deeds. 
A hundred warriors now advance, 
All dress'd and painted for the dance ; 
And sounding club and hollow skin 
A slow and measured time begin : 
With rigid limb and sliding foot, 
And murmurs low, the time to suit, 
Forever varying with the sound, 
The circling band moves 'round and 'round. 
Now slowly rise the swelling notes, 
W T hen every crest more lively floats, 
Now toss'd on high with gesture proud, 
Then lowly 'mid the circle bow'd ; 
While changing arms grow louder still, 
And every voice becomes more shrill, 
Till fierce and strong the clamour grows 
And the wild war-whoop bids it close : 
Then starts Shuuktonga forth, whose band 
Came far from Huron's storm-beat strand, 
And thus recounts his battle feats, 
While his dark club the measure beats :f 

u At fall of leaf, o'er Huron's wave 
Came party of the Saukies brave, 
Far from the mighty Turtle's]: isle, 
And, stealing on our tribe with guile, 
When hunter's arm and bow were gone 
And wives and children left alone, 

* The dog : an animal that is sacrificed and eaten on every 
solemn occasion. 

f At the Indian feasts, when a dance is concluded, some 
warrior starts up and recounts a battle feat, of which the nar- 
rator is always the hero. 

% Michi-mackinac means great Turtle. 



ONTWA. 41 

Seized on the weak and helpless prey, 
And bore them weeping slaves, away. 

" Shuuktonga, from the hunt returning, 
Found all were gone, and wigwams burning, 

And deep revenge he swore : 
Through thirty suns and thirty sleeps, 
At loneliest glens and highest steeps 

Severest fast he bore. 

ee Then on the ground his mat he spread, 

And raised aloft his signal red, 

And call'd on all whose hearts had bled, 

To string the vengeful bow ; 
That Saukies' blood might quench the flame, 
Which long had burnt to tell their shame, 

And triumph of the foe. 

te O'er ice and snow we bore the war ; 
The isle's white summit, gleaming far 
Long after day had sunk to rest, 
Was raising high its yellow crest 

To lead us on our way : 
The night was midway riding o'er, 
When reach' d our files its lofty shore ; 
Through knotted trees, along the brink, 
Where sliding foot would often shrink, 
And threat'ning rocks and yawning arch* 
Would oft delay the cautious march, 

Our silent pathway lay. 

" Beneath the brink, the Saukies slept, 
No watchful eye the sentry kept, 

* The " arched rock" on the island of Michi-mackinac is 
one of the greatest and most interesting curiosities of the 
country of the Lakes. 



42 ONTWA. 

E'en Aleem's bark was dumb ! 
We hung on high — no spirit seem'd 
To tell them, as they sweetly dream'd, 

The vengeful foe is come ! 

" The morning broke ; but Saukies' eye 
Ne'er look'd again on dappled sky — 
For every heart that beat at eve, 
Ere dawning light, had ceased to heave ; 
And not a tongue was left to tell, 
How Saukies fought or Saukies fell." 

Shuuktonga ceased: — In murmuring strain. 
The circling dance began again ; 
And when the whoop proclaim' d its close, 
Catawba, midst the clamour rose. 
From Erie's shore, where islands spread 
Like wampum belt across its head, 
He came, — and thus, in numbers rude, 
Loudly the varying song renew'd. 

" Oft in my youth I used to take 
Advent'rous course across the lake, 

From isle to island plying ; 
Nor fear'd, when fierce the tempest shook 
Far in some cove or rocky nook, 
Where billow never roll'd its way, 
My light canoe would find a bay, 

And all in peace be lying. 

" What led me o'er the distant wave ? 
What led me thus the storm to brave ? 

'Twas Unadilla's love : 
Miami's Chief, her warlike sire, 
Received me at his friendly fire, 

And did my suit approve. 



43 



u I sought her on the rocky cliff, 
Where she was wont to watch my skiff 

Skimming the waters fleet, — 
And where, with ornaments and skin, 
She now prepared the mockasin 

To deck Catawba's feet. 

" I stole along, with silent pace, 
And paused a moment just to trace 

Her features through the shade, 
When, rushing from the other side, 
A youth, array 'd in warlike pride, 

His bold appearance made. 

u With eager joy and greeting warm 
I saw him fold her yielding form,— 

My jealous brain turn'd 'round ; 
Ere yet the quick embrace could part, 
My hasty arrow pierced his heart — 

His plumage kiss'd the ground. 

** She turn'd, and saw the fatal bow 
Whose rashness laid the warrior low, 

And cried, in anguish wild, 
* Ah ! fly, Catawba, fly the deed ; _ 
Not unrevenged can Waitou bleed- 
He was Miami's child !' 

" Already rush'd the impatient crowd 
To greet the youth, with clamours loud, 

Just come from field of fame : 
I dared not seek a parting sigh, 
I turn'd, but not in fear — to fly ; 

I fled to hide my shame. 

u My lingering bark, with idle oar, 
Scarce plied along the rocky shore — 



44 ONTWA. 

Watching the jutting cliff above, — 
What well known form was seen to move ? 
'Twas Unadilla's step advanced : 
Around an anxious eye she glanced ; 
When, from a point, was seen to shoot 
A bark, as if in quick pursuit. 
I heeded not its fast approach — 
I saw her foot too far encroach, 

As if to urge my flight : 
Methought the crumbling rock gave way — 
Kind Manitou the ruin stay ! — 

I closed my aching sight. 

w The crash and plunge in silence died — 
The rippling wave spread far and wide, 
At last my distant bark it shook ; 
I raised my head with trembling look — 

And all was calm again : 
All thoughtless of pursuer's course, 
I darted off with frantic force, 

As if to fly from pain. 

" My single arm an isle had near'd, 
Before the stronger bark appear'd, 

Driven on with foaming speed ; 
'Twas then, with lagging strength, my mind 
First waked to peril yet behind, 

And roused to sense of heed. 

" I urged my way round rocky cape, 
By sheltering bay to make escape, 
And, ere their bark my skiff could reach, 
Its lighter prow had struck the beach, 

And I was in the wood : 
In vengful haste through thickest shade, 
O'er swelling knoll and rocky glade, 

My steps were close pursued. 



ONTWA. 45 

" Fast gained they on my failing pace-— 
Like hunters urging on the chase, 

More near became their bound ; 
When on my path, a refuge cave* 
Yawn'd wide, as if a wretch to save, — » 

I plunged beneath the ground : 
The cloven rocks a passage gave 

Within the dark profound, 
Where died away each passing sound, 

" I sunk on moist and rocky bed ; 
To dreaming lands my spirit fled, 

And left behind its grief, — 
Again my Unadilla lived, — 
And smiled again, his son revived — 
The old Miami Chief. 

" But O ! what horrors when I woke ! 
No gleam of light around me broke — 

'Twas thickest darkness all ; 
And nought disturb'd the silence deep 
That through the cavern held its sleep, 
Save mournful drops, the roof might weep, 

Scarce sounding in their fall. 

11 Catawba was not used to quake, 
But living death like this might shake 
The stoutest heart : I sought some ray 
That might reveal the entering way ; 
Through many a chasm and lengthen' d arch 
I groped in wild and desperate search, 
Now stumbling o'er the brittle stones 
Crumbling at touch like mouldering bones, 

* There is a cave in the island of Put-in-Bay, which has 
been the subject of much admiration, on account of its di- 
mensions and beautiful stalactites. 



4G ONTWA. 

Now falling in some silent stream 
Ne'er known to breeze or daylight beam—* 
Till hopeless, faint, and frantic grown, 
I laid my wearied body down 

In deep and calm despair : 
I calFd on death — when O ! methought 
My bare and fever'd bosom caught 

Some breath of upper air ! 
I moved- — and soon a glimmering ray 
Led back my steps again to day." 

Catawba ceased. — And thus the song 
And dance and feast the hours prolong : 
Each chief his wild adventure told 
In hunt, in love, or battle bold ; 
And daylight, rolling down the heaven, 
Had touch'd the forest-brow of even, 
When rose Kaskaskia from his place, 
And call'd to arms the Erie race. 
The revels sunk : Each bow was strung, 
And quiver o'er each shoulder flung, 
And every chief, in warlike mood, 
Before his warriors ready stood — 
Their gay crests tossing mid the green, 
As foam upon the dark waves seen. 
At first lead off the wily scout ; 
When every band took up its route 
In single line, with heedful pace, 
Leaving behind no treacherous trace, 
On bough or bush or bending grass 
That might reveal the secret pass. — 

* At the end of the cave alluded to, there is a little basin 
of water, so pellucid and imperturbably clear, as scarcely to 
appear distinct from the incumbent atmosphere : it is only 
when a pebble or other thing is thrown into it, that the illu- 
sion vanishes. 



ONTWA. 47 

Thus fled the night. No sound betray 'd 
That thousands march'd beneath its shade ; 
And mildly shone the moon and stars, 
As earth were sleeping free from wars. 
The march was stay'd at brightening dawn ; 
Far in the forest's depths withdrawn,— 
All, save the scouts, in stillness lay, 
Till night again concealed the way. 



The moon had gone, and darkest hour 

Had lost already half its power, 

And faintest gleam, like scouting spy, 

Was stealing up the morning sky, 

When foremost chief deep sounds could hear 

That spoke Niag'ra's thunders near. 

At once a note, that foe would deem 

Nought but the night bird's piercing scream, 

Was heard afar : at signal sound, 

Each chief and warrior sunk to ground, 

When every leaf return'd to rest, 

And sprung no more the grass depress'd, 

And stillness trembled through the air — 

As never man had trampled there. 

'Twas Ontwa now advanced alone : 

To him the foeman's look was known ; 

And, skill'd in signs of forest track — 

The grass bent down — the twigs thrown back ; 

To him was given the task to trace 

The foeman's path and lurking place. — 

With wreath of leaves twined round my brow, 

To look like waving bush or bough, 

I stole along: — as day advanced, 

A keener gaze around was glanced 



48 ONTWA, 

Tliat far through thickest foliage sees, 
While my quiet ear caught every breeze, 
Till passing sounds were heard no more, 
Lost in Niag'ra's swelling roar. 
Soon, as I stood in covert dark 
An opening in the wood to mark, 
Methought I saw a foeman spy, 
'Mongst skirting trees, pass swiftly by: 
I watch'd his step — full near he came, 
When true was made my arrow's aim : 
Jle fell : — and, with his signal crest 
And well-known arms and wampum drest, 
I launch'd again on bolder route, 
Secure to pass for foeman's scout. 

Soon on the wood-crown' d plain and height, 
I caught of foe imperfect sight, 
Deep hid by mask of boughs and leaves' 
That all but keenest eye deceives. 
Then unobserved, now here, now there, 
I hover'd round their secret lair, — 
Noted each glade, recess, and path 
That might conduct the battle's wrath, 
And give direction or disguise 
To bold attack or dark surprise : 
Then doffing arms and crest of slain, 
Triumphant darted back again. 
" Poor scout," I said — " my dart laid low- 
Long thy return may wait the foe, 
And while they chide thy lagging pace, 
Vengeance may reach their lurking place— 
And Erie come, by Ontwa led, 
Through paths thy fallen crest betray'd." 

Now woke Kaskaskia's signal sound— 
At once the warriors rbe around : 



ONTWA. 49 

He bade them wreath their brows with green, 

That they might ape the verdant scene. 

" No sound will wake the foeman's ear, 

Fill'd with Niag'ra's thunders near ; 

And still inactive they may lie 

Waiting their slow returning spy, 

Who, low by Ontwa's arrow laid, 

Now sleeps at rest in yonder glade : 

Their coverts reach' d, let bush or tree 

The ambush of each Erie be, 

Till wily whoop shall cause the foe, 

Thoughtless of harm, his crests to show. 

Then, when from lurking place they rise 

And stand unmask 'd before our eyes, 

Let then the feather 'd vengeance wake, 

And every dart its victim take ; 

And lest some barb should vainly speed, 

Let the dark club pursue the deed 

Till every spot where foeman stood 
Shall bear a corpse, and float in blood : 
Know, the triumphant hour is nigh, 
For the Great Spirit of the sky, ° 
As he rush'd by amid the storm, 

Did thus Kaskaskia's soul inform : 

Never shall Erie lose the field, 
While foe shall desert weapon wield" 



The star of day was just descending, 
Its lustre still to vapours lending 
That high above Niag'ra hung, 
And down reflected brightness flung 
On dark abyss and forest shade, 
And twilight in its march delay 'd ; 
C 



$0 ONTWA. 

When, all unseen, the Erie bands 
Had seized their close and ambush'd stands, 
And lowly crouch'd with listening ear, 
Waiting the signal whoop to hear. — 
The pause was deep, — and, save the roar 
Of rumbling waters tumbling o'er 
The torrent's steep, no sound was heard 
That aught the calm of twilight stirr'd. 

At last the whoop deceptive rose — 
At once leap'd up a thousand foes 
From tree and bush and lowly shrub, 
"With bended bow, and lifted club, 
Casting around an anxious eye, 
As asking — whence the battle-cry ? 
From viewless bows, a plumed shower 
Burst forth from covert shade and bower, 
As if each leaf, by sudden art, 
Had been transform'd to barbed dart, 
And fierce and fatal answer sped, 
That laid full many a foeman dead. 
As peal succeeds the lightning's flash, 
So sudden burst the battle's crash : 
With direst whoop, from ambush'd place, 
On rush'd the vengeful Erie race ; 
And, ere the dart had spent its force, 
Pursued with club its bloody course — 
Renewing oft the mortal blow 
On rising and on sinking foe ; 
Till every crest was seen to stoop, 
That rose to view at wily whoop. 

Then died the tumult of the fight ; 

The moon look'd down with broken light, 

And fitful shone on victor crest, 

And vanquish'd, sunk in dreamless rest : 



OMTWA. £1 

While rose anew Niag'ra's jar. 
As if to fill the pause of war. 
Lies every foeman bleeding there ?— 
Or whence the whoops that rend the air ? 
*Tis Saranac, with mightier host, 
"Who comes — unfelt the thousands lost — ■ 
To wake again the battle's rage : 
On, on we rush — again engage ! 
This was no wavering, yielding fray, 
That wounds and blood might soon allay ; 
'Twas conflict fierce — now deadly grown — 
Whose fury death could end alone. — 
While the full quiver gave its store, 
The arrowy storm was seen to pour: 
Then closed the fight with deeper yell, 
And ponderous clubs together fell, 
And, while the crash to crash succeeds, 
More deep the reeking battle bleeds. 
At last the desperate struggle came 
Of vigorous frame lock'd in with frame — ■ 
When closed the fierce and frantic grasp, 
That only broke with life's last gasp : 
The moon oft shining thro' the gloom, 
Would glimpses give of sinking plume, 
Of writhing form, and drooping head, 
And thousands cold on gory bed. 
The clouds pass'd off* the face of heaven, 
And back the fainting foe was driven ! 
A moment stay'd Kaskaskia's foot, 
Lest ambush wait the quick pursuit, — 
When, bursting from a viewless cloud. 
Quick peals of thunder, sharp and loud, 
From height behind the foemen broke. 
And darting far its fatal stroke — 
Like Areouski's shrouded wrath, 
Spread death and terror o'er its path. 



52 ONTWA. 

The trembling Eries shrunk aghast ! 

'Twas the Great Spirit sent the blast, 

And bade them yield to foes the field 

Who thus could Heaven's own thunders wield.*' 

They sunk to earth, with fears subdued : 

Alone erect, Kaskaskia stood, 

The moon beam'd full upon his brow, 

Of more than mortal sternness now, 

While, kindling 'neath her gentle beam, 

His eye sent back its fiercest gleam, — 

As it would quench the light which shone 

On Erie's greatness overthrown,— 

Or ask the cloudless skies, whence came 

This thunder, wrapp'd in smoke and flame? 

Again along the wood it peals 1 — 

Kaskaskia's lofty plumage reels ! 

Through unseen wound, in gushing flood, 

His ample breast sends forth its blood ;— . 

Long the red earth the torrent drinks, 

Ere yet that lofty plumage sinks : 

At last it falls, — like hanging rock, 

That slowly yields to lightning's shock, 

Till prop and hold and all are gone, 

Then sinks, in majesty, alone. 

The battle swept along, — it pass'd ; 
And wearied carnage sunk at last : 
While, rising o'er the reeking plain, 
Niag'ra swell'd his din again, 
, Hush'd the last groans the dying gave, 
And rung o'er Erie's bloody grave.— 

* The inexperienced savages, when they first heard the 
report of fire-arms, supposed those who used them to be more 
llian mortals, and made no resistance to what they believed 
to be the wrath of the Great Spirit. 



& 



The morning came, and curving rays 
Bedeck'd anew the torrent's haze ; 
But Erie's eye was quench'd in night : 
Save Ontwa's — none saw morning light,— 
A lonely captive — spared to grace 
The feast of triumph o'er his race. 



ONTWA. 



u The day pass'd o'er the scene of blood, 
And night again hung o'er the wood ; 
But other scenes than strife and war 
Now caught the light of moon and star. 
As sunk the sun, the victors rose, 
Refresh'd by rest since battle's close, 
And rous'd the feast of sacrifice: — 
For with the morning Ontwa dies. 
Beneath an oak, on rising ground, 
Fast to the trunk, by osiers bound, 
The victim sat : while fierce and loud, 
Spread far and near the circling crowd : 
A central fire curl'd high in air, 
And, darting 'round a ruddy glare, 
Bright on the inner circle glovv'd, 
The distant throng more dimly show'd, 
And ting'd the pile with gloomy light 
Which stood before the captive's sight- 
Waiting but morn's enkindling breath, 
To light down Ontwa's soul to death. 

Sped on the feast and revelry : 
The dance oft wheel'd around the tree, 
The flaming brand was often sent, 
And bow in idle mockery bent : 
But nought the soul of Ontwa shook—- 
He answer'd all with scornful look ; 
And thus, amid the insulting throng, 
Haised high and bold his victim-song : 



GNTWA. 55 

" Think not Ontwa's spirit shaken ; 
Fear can ne'er a throb awaken — 
Though this form be captive taken, 

Still his soul is free. 
All your fiery torments scorning, 
Pleased he sees the pile adorning, 
Which shall send him, with the morning. 

Sire and friends to see. 

" What though Erie low be lying — 
And no voice will e'er be crying 
For revenge of Ontwa dying ! 

Still his soul will boast : 
Where yon vultures now are feeding, 
Many a foeman's corse lies bleeding : 
Given by Ontwa's dart their speeding ;— 

These revenge his ghost. 

" Stars of heaven ! why still ascending ? 
Would your lights were downward bending, 
Would the shades of night were ending, 

And the day begun. 
By delightful rivers staying, 
Erie's gather'd bands are straying, 
Chiding Ontwa's long delaying — 

Would the night were done J" 

Thus, while around the revels rung, 

My song of death was proudly sung :-— . 

A fiery juice, by white men given, 

Oft through the feast and dance was driven, 

And loud and fierce the tumult grew ; 

No rest the forest echoes knew 

From whoop and yell, till midnight hour 

Descended with its drowsy power, 

And falling on the crowd around 

Laid them in slumbers on the ground, 



56 ONTWA. 

All, save the guard of Ontwa, slept ! 
E'en that but fitful watching kept ; 
And with continued languor prest, 
Sunk down, at last, among the rest. 

The downward moon now gently shone 
On Ontwa's waking eye alone ; 
The fire, unfed, descended low, 
And shed but weak and flickering glow, 
While scarce the dying coals awoke, 
Beneath the dew-drop from the oak — 
Caught by some leaf in silence there, 
And sent down glittering through the air. 
'Twas stillness all, save broken scream 
That sometimes burst from warrior's dream* 
As if anew the battle raged, 
And all his dreaming thoughts engaged. 

Viewing the scene with vacant eye, 

Now fix'd on earth, now on the sky, 

With rising soul, whose flight was borne 

Far o'er the fate of coming morn, 

And mix'd already with the bands 

Of Erie, risen in happier lands, — 

In dreaming thought fulness I sunk, 

Half slumb'ring 'gainst the tree's dark trunk : 

Till fancy, 'mid the light and shade 

That underneath the foliage play'd, 

Pictured a form, like vision bright, 

Now hovering near, now far from sight ; 

As if some spirit, sent to bear 

My soul away, were waiting there. 

Nearer and nearer yet it drew — 

Did fancy still deceive my view ? 

The moon sent forth a brighter beam, 

That broke the shadows of my dream ;— « 



ONTWA. 57 

' Tis she ! that beam her form betrays—- 
'Twas fair Oneyda met my gaze ! 

The ever watchful dog, that heard 
Her near approach, a moment stirr'd, 
A moment view'd her, as she stood 
Like spirit lost amid the wood — 
Then crouch'd again with chiding whine, 
As if awaked by moon-beam's shine. 
With wary look, and listening ear 
That paused each trembling sound to hear. 
And foot whose fall would scarce disturb 
The dew that stood on leaf and herb, 
Through the prone guard around that lay- 
She made her light and cautious way. 
Why starts that warrior from his doze ? 
*Twas but a restless dream of foes 
That roused him from his earthy bed, 
Where soon again he bows his head ; 
And as the murm'ring sounds subside, 
Oneyda stands at Ontwa's side. 
Delight and wonder chain'd my tongue, 
While o'er my captive form she hung ; 
And thus, as with a trembling hand 
She loosed the osier's knotty band, 
And then, with bright entreating eye 
And earnest gesture bade me fly, 
Silent and lost in gaze of love, 
I felt nor wish nor power to move : 
She seized my hand, and led the way, 
Where prostrate guard and warriors lay, 
With scatter'd darts and slacken'd bow — 
That told the Erie race was low. 

She paused when deep within the shade :— 

** Now fly, young warrior ! fly" — she said ; 

C 2 



" Urge through the dark thy rapid flight, 
Nor foar pursuit till morning light : 
My hand the drowsy drink prepared, 
Which lull'd to rest thy watchful guard ; 
Now low among the crowd o'erthrown, 
They'll find too late the victim flown. 
Last of a race — now lost in war ! 
Seek out some new and brighter star : 
And when thou sleep'st beneath its beam., 
Let far Oneyda share thy dream.'* 

Can Ontwa paint her simple grace— 
Her slender form, and lovely face, 
Which only half its beauty show'd, 
So wildly loose her dark locks fiow'd, 
The tear that dimm'd her glist'ning eye, 
When she would bid the wanderer fly?— . 
The sinking moon with pleased delay 
Glanced on her charms a mellow ray, 
And show'd on robe and features fair 
The dew, and brighter tear-drop, there.— » 
Did Ontwa then alone depart ? 
Ah ! no. I cried, with selfish heart, 
" Sweet blossom of the wild ! thy hands 
Have sever'd Ontwa's captive bands, 
But vainly dost thou set him free, 
When still his heart is bound to thee : 
The osier bond no longer holds, 
But wreath of love has stronger folds. 

! thou bright vision of my sleep, 

Ere Ontwa's eyes had learn'd to weep— 
Thou, whom I thought a star from heave»* 
Or spirit by the blue wave given, 
When watching o'er thy morning rest 

1 placed the wild rose on thy breast — 
O ! whither, now, shall Ontwa turn ? 
His country's fires no longer burn : 



ONTWA. 59 

Of home and sire and kindred reft, 

\\Aiat has the lonely wanderer left— 

If thou, Oneyda, scorn his love, 

And send him forth alone to rove ? 

My death-song had been proudly sung, 

My soul like nervous bow was strung, 

And waited with impatient smile 

The burning of the fatal pile, 

Whose morn-enkindling flames would close 

Over the last of Erie's woes. 

What drew my spirit back to earth ? — 

'Twas form of more than Indian birth, 

Such charms as Ontwa never knew, 

For never such in desert grew. 

Erie's red daughters long had sigh'd 

To melt this bosom's icy pride, 

But till I saw Oneyda's face 

I never loved but sportive chase; 

Then wilt thou forth the wanderer send, 

Bereft of home and sire and friend ? 

When thou, Oneyda — wouldst thou roam, 

Might be his friend, his sire and home." 

" Too well, bold youth ! thou know'st the art 

To win with flattering tongue the heart, 

And far too willing thou hast found 

My ear to listen to the sound : 

Prize not too high this fairer face, 

Which owes its hues to white man's race ; 

Learn that Oneyda's mother came 

From distant shores of Gallic name, — 

In former wars, her home subdued, 

By savage foe and death pursued, 

To Saranac she owed her life ; 

And, in return, became his wife : 

Ere twice the forest bloom had fled, 

She sunk within her narrow bed — 



60 ONTWA. 

Whence her lorn soul return'd agaiis 
To hover o'er her native plain. 
'Twas from her milk Oneyda drew 
The snows that gave this brighter hue> 
'Twas all of Gallia's race she gave ; 
The rest was buried in her grave. — 
But why detain? — O ! quickly haste, 
Nor more the precious moments waste : 
Nay — why delay ? — 'Tis all in vain ; 
'Twere easy this weak heart to gain- 
But soon, by Saranac's command, 
Will Wey win claim Oneyda's hand ; 
A warlike chief — by sire approved, 
Though never by Oneyda loved : 
Yet hadst not thou — but hark ! methought 
My ear the sound of tumult caught ! 
It is ! they find the captive flown ! 
O, fly ; — yet stay — ah, yes, begone; 
For should Oneyda share thy way, 
'Twould but thy fleeter step delay." 

The tumult rose. — " On, on," she cried, 
<f And may my mother's spirit guide."— 
We darted forward through the glade, 
And soon were lost in distant shade — 
Where not a sound came on the wind, 
To say pursuit was still behind. 



" Here, my Oneyda, rest thy feet, 
No eye will find this for retreat : 
Here on this bank shalt thou repose, 
Shelter'd from sun, secure from foes, 
While o'er thy deep and weary sleep, 
Ontwa shall watchful sentry keep."— 



6NTWA. 61 

On flowery bank fatigued she sank, 

Where hunted deer full often drank— 

Perhaps, like us, no longer fearing 

The lost pursuer's re-appearing. 

" With thee, young warrior ! thee so near, 

What has Oneyda's heart to fear ? 

My infant ears could scarce rejoice 

When wont to hear a mother's voice ; 

For scarce they caught her note of love, 

Ere her pure soul was borne above : 

But still, methinks, I never hung 

On sweetness of a mother's tongue, 

With half the rapture I incline 

To catch the gentle sounds of thine. 

O, when I lived among the crowd, 

Where hundred warriors round me bow'd, 

Now giving fruit of hunting toil, 

And now the nobler battle-spoil ; 

When every morn my cabin door 

Was hung with flowers and verdure o'er, 

And bloom of spring and summer's sweet 

Were ofFer'd at O neyda's feet ; 

My bosom never knew a bliss — 

It scarce e'er dreamt of joy — like this. 

Here by this still and lonely stream 

My soul shall wake its sweetest dream, 

And when we rise to fly again 

For refuge in some distant plain, 

O ! may Oneyda's vigour prove 

Firm and unwearied in her love," 

On bed of flowers, by Ontwa made, 
Her drooping charms she gently laid ; 
And oft her slumbers check'd to raise 
A glance that ever met my gaze ; 
Till visions quench'd their quivering light, 
As clouds steal o'er the stars of night. 



2 ONTWA. 

O ! what a charm to lover's eye 

Have beauties that in slumber lie, 

When, all confiding, they are given 

To faith, that's wateh'd alone by Heaven • 

In trusting innocence she slept, 

While love the sacred vigil kept. 

The trembling lip and heaving breast 
Oft spoke the fears that broke her rest ; 
And oft she'd cry, in dreaming fright, 
" Fly, Ontwa ! why delay our flight ? 
Methinks 'tis Weywin's dart I see — 
Its vengeful barb is aim'd at thee." 
" Sweet sleeper ! calm thy vision's fear ; 
Is not thy watchful warrior near ? 
The forest sleeps beneath the sun, 
The lonely waters calmly run, 
And scarce the insect flutters 'round, 
Lest it should wake thee with its sound. 
Soon as thy broken slumbers end, 
Again our course afar we'll bend, 
Launch our light bark, and refuge take 
In friendlier regions o'er the lake : 
There, where Ohio's waters press 
Their silent way through wilderness, 
But echo, as they wind along, 
Only the bird's or hunter's song, 
On some lone border of the wild, 
I'll shelter thee, thou snowy child !'* 

The evening sun, descending low, 

His level beams began to throw 

Beneath the trees, which stretch'd their shades 

Like giant limbs through lengtheu'd glades,— 

When, starting from her flowery bed, 

Oneyda wildly raised her head, 



ONTWA. 63 

And, still half dreaming, bent her ear 
As if she thought pursuers near. 
" Ah ! no — 'twas all a dream. But oh ! 
Methought I saw fierce Weywin's bow 
Aiming at thee its vengeful dart : 
It sped, — but struck Oneyda's heart. 
The pang was dreadful, but methought 
I would again the dart have caught, 
Again severer pangs have braved, 
Were life of Ontwa to be saved. — 
But hark ! I hear a step advance ! — 
'Tishe!— 'Tis Weywin's fiery glance— 
And bended bow"— And to my breast, 
With fatal haste, she frantic prest, — 
Her warning dream, alas ! too true, — 
For then the vengeful arrow flew ! 
Her warm blood o'er my bosom gush'd, 
As from her wound the torrent rush'd, 
While yet her eye, with ray intense, 
Beam'd forth its dying eloquence ; 
And ere the smile had left her cheek, 
Which still of parting love would speak, 
Her soul of snowy hue had flown, — 
And left me in this world alone. 

The day went down on Ontwa's grief : 
He saw nor foeman's tribe nor chief 
Drawn by the signal whoop around, 
As Weywin gave the fatal wound.— 
The victor chief tore off his plume : 
His wailing tribe sat down in gloom : 
But chief nor tribe could ever know 
The depth of Ontwa's silent woe. — 
Three days, the murmuring stream pursued 
Its course along the mournful wood, 
Echoing the notes of plaintive song, 
That told the sorrows of the throng— 



£4 ONTWA. 

When *neath a willow's drooping shade, 
Within her narrow house, was laid 
The loved Oneyda. * 



What now had Ontwa left on earth ? — 
Lonely he rose, and wander'd forth : 

His wand'rings but, of what avail, 

To lengthen out my mournful tale ? — 

Led by the love of one dear name, 

I sought the land of white men's fame, 

And linger'd years about their fires, 

Wliere slept, methought, her mother's sires. 

The stranger world before me rose, 

But gave no rest to Ontwa's woes : 

I sought the desert wild again, 

But the rude scenes revived my pain : 

And here my worn and wearied feet 

Have come to seek their last retreat ; 

And here stands Ontwa's wither' d grief, 

Hanging like dry and quivering leaf, 

That waits from heaven but faintest breath, 

To break its hold, and sink in death. 



XIlis£U*aiion& 



£The following Illustrations of the preceding work has 
been extracted from the private MSS. of Lewis Case/, Esq., 
Governor of the Territory of Michigan. It is scarcely ne- 
cessary to inform the public, that he has been for several 
years, ex officio, the superintendant of numerous tribes of 
Indians, or to recall to mind his recent extensive tour to the 
sources of the Mississippi, in order to give a value and inter- 
est to his observations on aboriginal subjects. The novelty 
and variety of the facts these illustrations exhibit, must ren- 
der them important to the curious ; and if they at the same 
time show, that the work to which they are appended-— in the 
descriptive parts at least— has received its impressions from 
realities rather than from imagination, they may give it a 
character higher than that of a mere work of fiction.} 

No — 'twas a spirit mild and meek 
That objects less sublime would seek : 
I sought the Indian of the wild. 
Nature's forlorn and roving child. 

Page 10, line 15, 8fC. 

Early and strenuous efforts were made by the French to 
convert the Indians to civilization and Christianity. The 
zealous missionaries of the Roman Catholic religion carried 
the cross into the most remote regions which were then 
known. Establishments for this purpose were formed at Mi- 
Chilimackinac, at L'Arbre Croche, at St. Joseph's, at Green 
Bay, and at other places. The object was prosecuted with 
zeal, industry and talents, worthy of more permanent success 
than has attended these labours. The difficulties, dangers 
and privations, which must have accompanied this intense 
and voluntary devotion of their lives, to the moral and phy- 
sical melioration of our aboriginal inhabitants, can be fully 
appreciated by those only who are able to form some estimate 
of the condition and character of the country, at that early 
period. There was a generous self-devotedness in these 
apostles of Loyola, which nothing could have inspired, but 
the intensity of their zeal and their entire abstraction from 



4/ 



66 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

all personal considerations. To suffer in a valued cause, and 
when surrounded by those who sympathize with the martyr, 
whether he be the victim of religious or political intolerance, 
does not require the strongest effort of human resolution.— 
Cranmer and Russell, no doubt, sought and found consola- 
tion in the nature of the causes for which they respectively 
suffered and died. The circumstances of the times had ex- 
cited their feelings to an elevation proportioned to the crisis 
in which each of them was placed, and their martyrdom was 
seen and applauded and lamented by thousands. But in the 
solitude of the forest, removed from every trace of civiliza- 
tion, and surrounded by ruthless savages, these holy men 
had no crowds of witnesses, no powerful and temporary bursts 
of enthusiasm, no imposing external circumstances, to sup- 
port them in the hour of danger and of death. The authen- 
tic records of their misssonary labours show, that they were 
subjected to every danger and privation* which savage ma- 
lignity could devise, or which human resignation could en- 
dure; and many of them were murdered at the foot of the 
altar. No traces of their laborious exertions can now be dis- 
covered, in the manners or morals of the Indians. The hand 
of time; has swept away the teacher and the neophyte; and 
nothing now remains to show, that the standard of Christi- 
anity has ever waved amid the dark forests of our country. 

The lessons of experience upon this subject are too import- 
ant to be disregarded. In the zealous efforts, which are now 
making, to meliorate the condition of the Indians, we have 
much to learn from the history of the progress and result of 
the same experiment, which was made by the Jesuits. We 
cannot bring to the task more fervid zeal, more profound ta- 
lents, more extensive or varied acquirements, nor probably a 
deeper knowledge of the principles of human nature. But, 
so far as respects any permanent or valuable impression, they 
have wholly failed. Very few of the Indians profess any at- 
tachment to the Christian religion ; and of those who make 
this profession, there is not probably one whose knowledge is 
not confined to the imposing rites and external ceremonies of 
tlic Catholic church. A more vivid impression appears to 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 67 

have been made upon the Wyandots, than upon any others ; 
and they preserved, for a longer term than any other tribe, 
traces of the indefatigable exertions of their spiritual fathers. 
But even with them, superior as they are in intellectual en- 
dowments, and placed by their local situation in contact with 
a Catholic community, the subject is forgotten ; or, if re- 
membered, it is remembered only by a few aged and decrepid 
persons, like other traditionary legends of their nation. 

Fortunately for the cause of humanity, and for the dis- 
charge of the great moral debt which we owe to this miser- 
able race of beings, deep interest has lately been excited upon 
this important subject. A spirit of inquiry has awakened, 
which cannot but produce beneficial results. The obliga- 
tions under which we are placed, as an enlightened and 
Christian community, to teach our wretched neighbours the 
blessings of civilization and Christianity, are universally felt 
and acknowledged. We have driven them from the Atlan- 
tic to the Mississippi. Our forefathers, who landed upon this 
continent, found them numerous, high spirited, and power- 
ful. They are now few, depressed, weak, and miserable. — 
For the fair possessions which once were theirs, let us give 
them a more precious inheritance : — a gradual participation 
in those blessings, natural and intellectual, civil and religious, 
which have fallen to our lot. 

There is reason to believe, that the failure of the Jesuits 
was owing to the principles upon which their operations were 
conducted, rather than to any intrinsic and insuperable dif- 
ficulties in the object itself. It is easy to teach an Indian to 
comply with the external forms of the church ; and he may 
make the sign of the cross, when he has no ideas, practical 
or speculative, upon the momentous subject which alone gives 
importance to these ceremonies. Any change, to be perma- 
nent, must be gradual and general. We must teach the In- 
dians, by their own observations, the value of our institu- 
tions. We must induce them to abandon their present er- 
ratic life, and to establish them permanently. We must 
convince them that the scanty and precarious subsistence, 
which is now furnished by the chase, will be acquired with 



68 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

less toil and more certainty, by the labour of agriculture.— 
We must teach them, above all, the value of separate and 
exclusive property— the cardinal principle in our own attempts 
upon this subject. In fact their physical and moral improve- 
ment must be contemporaneous : each will alternately act as 
cause and effect. 

If this great cause be placed in proper hands, and prose- 
cuted with zeal and judgment proportioned to its importance, 
we may safely anticipate a successful result. But it must be 
the work of time and labour. It cannot be accomplished 
speedily or easily. Inveterate habits must be eradicated, 
strong prejudices encountered, and the feelings and opinions 
of a whole race of human beings entirely changed, before 
complete success can attend our exertions. But such a blood- 
Jess victory would be more important to the character of our 
country, than the most sanguinary battle which stains the 
pages of history. 

Through rocky isles, whose bolder forms 

Still chafed and fritter'd down by storms, 

And, worn to steeps of varying shape 

That architectural orders ape, 

Show ruin'd column, arch, and niche, 

And wall's dilapidated breach. 

Page 11, line 11, %c. 
Upon the southern coast of Lake Superior, about fifty miles 
from the falls of St. Mary's, are the immense precipitous cliffs, 
called by thevoyageurs LePortail, and the st Pictured rocks." 
This name has been given to them, in consequence of the 
different appearances which they present to the traveller, as 
he passes their base in his canoe. It requires little aid from 
the imagination to discern in them the castellated tower, the 
lofty dome, spires and pinnacles, and every sublime, gro- 
tesque, or fantastic shape, which the genius of architecture 
has ever invented. These cliffs are an unbroken mass of 
rocks rising to an elevation of three hundred feet above the 
level of the Lake, and stretching along the coast for fifteen 
miles. The voyageurs never pass this coast except in the 
most profound calm ; and the Indians, before they make thp 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 69 

attempt, offer their accustomed oblations, to propitiate the 
favour of their Manitous. The eye instinctively searches 
along this eternal rampart for a single place of security j— but 
the search is vain. With an impassable barrier of rock on 
one side, and an interminable expanse of water on the other, 
a sudden storm upon the lake would as inevitably insure de- 
struction to the passenger in his frail canoe, as if he were on 
the brink of the cataract of Niagara. The rock itself is a 
sandstone, which is disintegrated, by the continued action of 
the water, with comparative facility. There are no broken 
masses upon which the eye can rest and find relief. The 
lake is so deep that these masses, as they are torn from the 
precipice, are concealed beneath its waters until they are re- 
duced to sand. The action of the waves has undermined 
every projecting point ; and there the immense precipice 
rests upon arches, and the foundation is intersected by ca- 
verns extending in every direction. When we passed this 
mighty fabric of nature, the wind was still and the lake calm. 
But even the slight motion of the waves, which in the most 
profound calm agitates these internal seas, swept through the 
deep caverns^with the noise of distant thunder, and died up- 
on the ear, as it rolled forward in the dark recesses inacces- 
sible to human observation • no sound more melancholy or 
more awful ever vibrated upon human nerves. It has left an 
impression, which neither time nor distance can ever efface. 
Resting in a frail bark canoe upon the limpid waters of the 
lake, we seemed almost suspended in air — so pellucid is the 
element upon which we floated. In gazing upon the tower- 
ing battlements which impended over us, and from which 
the smallest fragment would have destroyed us, we felt, 
and felt intensely, our own insignificance. No situation 
can be imagined more appalling to the courage, or more 
humbling to the pride of man. We appeared like a small 
speck upon the face of creation. Our whole party, In- 
dians and voyageurs, and soldiers and officers, and savans, 
contemplated in mute astonishment the awful display of 
creative power, at whose base we hung ; and no sound broke 
upon the ear, to interrupt the ceaseless roaring of the waters. 



70 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

No splendid cathedral, no temple built with human hands, 
no pomp of worship, could ever impress the spectator with 
such deep humility, and so strong a conviction of the im- 
mense distance between him and the Almighty Architect. 

The writer of this article has viewed the falls of Niagara, 
and the passage of the Potomac through the Blue Ridge, two 
of the most stupendous objects in the natural features of our 
country. The impression they produce is feeble and tran- 
sient, when compared with that of the '* Pictured rocks" of 
Lake Superior. 

When 'mid his chiefs, I saw my sire 
Awake on high the council fire. 

Page 25, lines 17 and 18. 

No important business is ever transacted by the Indians, 
without kindling the council fire. This ceremony preceded 
the arrival of the Europeans upon this continent. It doubt- 
less had its origin in the convenience which was thus afford- 
ed the assembled multitude for lighting their pipes. Their 
appetite for smoking is strong and inveterate. When those 
who are to participate in the deliberations of the council are 
convened, the great pipe is lighted, and the stem is held up- 
wards, as a mark of adoration to the Great Spirit. After this 
ceremony it is smoked successively, in the order of rank, by 
all who are present : for this purpose it is carried by one of 
the Chiefs to every individual, who, without taking hold of 
the pipe with his hands, draws two or three puffs of the 
smoke. The Council is then ready to investigate the busi- 
ness for which it was convened. The Indians have two pipes, 
which are used upon solemn occasions : one is the great peace 
pipe, and the other the war pipe. They are severally smoked 
under circumstances sufficiently indicated by their names. 

But the words " Council fire" are also used by the Indians, 
metaphorically, to indicate the place where their councils are 
held. Every village has its own fire, which is kindled when- 
ever the inhabitants meet for deliberation. But all the diffe- 
rent tribes, with whom we are acquainted, north ©f the Ohio 
and east of the Mississippi, were connected together, and had 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 71 

a general Council fire, which was kept by the Wyandots at 
the mouth of the Detroit river. How long they had enjoyed 
this pre-eminence, is doubtful. But the right of convening 
the other tribes to the Council fire, was possessed by this na- 
tion ; and when application for that purpose was made by any 
of the others, the Wyandots despatched the necessary wam- 
pum and tobacco— which are the credentials carried by the 
messengers. Some of the principal Chiefs from every quar- 
ter attended these Councils j and when they met, a fire was 
kindled by a flint and steel. After the Council closed, this 
fire was carefully extinguished. All objects, affecting the 
Indians generally, were investigated and determined, upon 
these occasions. But the late war, which produced greater 
changes in the feelings and customs of the Indians, than the 
fifty years preceding had made, extended its effects to thi» 
institution. The Council, and its members, and its objects, 
have disappeared, and the plough has passed over the site of 
the sacred fire. 

Has filPd my dreams with deep alarms. 

Page 27, line 6. 
The Indians have great confidence in d,:eams : They are 
considered as the immediate manifestations of the will of the 
Great Spirit; and it is almost impossible to persuade them 
to disregard these impressions. The most important expedi- 
tions are sometimes stopped and turned back, by a dream of 
one of the party. In the year 1778, a party of about one 
hundred Chippewa warriors, led by a Chief named Wa.be- 
gon-a, left Detroit upon a war excursion against the infant 
settlements in Kentucky. During the march, warrior after 
warrior abandoned the party, affected by the dreams which 
they had, or feigned to have, until the number was reduced 
to twenty-three. When they arrived upon the Ohio, they 
struck a road apparently much travelled. They watched this 
road some time ; but not meeting with any success, they re- 
turned, and proceeded one day's march towards home. On 
the evening of this day, a British interpreter, who was with 



72 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

the party, remonstrated against their return, and urged the 
Chief to remain in the country until they could strike the 
Americans. He dwelt upon topics obvious to the Indians; 
and represented the disgrace which would attend an unfor- 
tunate expedition. The Chief finally consented to refer the 
question to a dream. He prepared himself for the approach- 
ing communication, and in the morning stated that the Great 
Spirit had appeared to him, and had directed him to watch 
the road again, until a party of the Americans should pass. 
The Indians returned with great confidence, stationed them- 
selves upon the road, and there remained until a party ap- 
proached — upon whom they fired. They took two scalps and 
three prisoners. 

It was not difficult to perceive that this road was daily tra- 
velled, and the Chief hazarded little in advising his warriors 
to watch it. The whole plan was probably contrived between 
him and the interpreter, to restore confidence to the dispi- 
rited party. 

The Indians carry, in a prepared skin called natte, certain 
objects of worship, known by the name of Manitous. These 
Manitous are the stuffed skins of young mings, beavers, birds, 
and other animals. They are preserved with great care ;— 
and the natte always accompanies the war parties. It is car- 
ried by the principal Chief, during the march ; and at night 
it is hung upon a pole, stuck on the ground on the side to- 
wards the enemy. Should any person incautiously pass be- 
tween the natte and the enemy, the whole party would in- 
stantly return, and nothing would induce them to advance. 
When the Chief is anxious to consult the Great Spirit, re- 
specting the result of the expedition, or the fate of any of his 
warriors, he sleeps with his head in contact with the natte. — 
In this situation his dreams are prophetic. 

It is obvious that the minds of the Indians are prepared 
for these impressions. Fasting, watching, long conversations 
and intense reflection upon the subject, produce the very re- 
sult of which they are in pursuit. They dream because their 
faculties, intellectual and corporeal, are in a state of excite- 
ment most favourable to such an object. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 73 

I'll seek, amid the howling storm, 
The Manitou's appalling form. 

Page 21, lines 9 and 10. 

A full examination of the superstitious notions and prac- 
tices of the Indians, would involve an extensive view of their 
mythology. It is difficult to procure accurate information 
upon the subject j and I think it probable that their own ideas 
are confused, and that the boundaries between the power of 
their good and bad spirits are not distinctly marked. They 
are desirous, upon all important occasions, of consulting the 
spirits, good or bad, respecting the result. There is a parti- 
cular order of men, called Wa-be-no, in French— jongleurs, 
(as they are called in English by the Canadians) tinkers— who 
are themedium of communication for this purpose. These 
Wa-be-no formed a society, which was pe. petuated by the 
continued admission of new members. But the process of 
initiation was tedious, and some time elapsed before the can- 
didate was admitted to a full participation in the benefits and 
knowledge of the society. The Wa-be-no, of all the tribes 
had a common bond of union, and the principal members met 
annually near the Spring Wells, upon the Detroit river. At 
this periodical convocation, the rites of their order were ce- 
lebrated with feasts and dancing, and the other imposing ce- 
remonies which were appropriated to these western Eleusini- 
an mysteries. The rank and influence of the different mem- 
bers, were determined by their knowledge of these ceremo- 
nies, and by the visitations which they felt or affected to feel. 
It is probable that fanaticism and hypocrisy had each their 
votaries among these " jongleurs. " The process preparatory 
to initiation was well calculated to render them susceptible 
to the slightest impression. The candidate was shut up in a 
lonesome cabin, and was compelled to abstain from all food 
and drink, for many days. What is the extreme limit of hu- 
man strength and resolution, in this state of total abstinence, 
I do not know : but there is an old Chippewa, now living, 
who is said to have been thus incarcerated for nine days. It 
is not difficult to conceive, that this discipline would prepare 
the youthful mind for strong and permanent impressions, and 
D 



74 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

for a sublimation of the imagination, which might lead him 
to mistake the reveries of his own excited fancy, for the re- 
velations of an invisible being. It is probable that the ini- 
tiatory ceremonies fortified these impressions ; and it is cer- 
tain that this order of men acquired a preponderating influ- 
ence over the minds of the Indians— an influence, too, which 
was extended to the traders and voyageurs, with whom they 
formerly had intercourse. 

I am unwilling to recount the stories that are told upon this 
subject ; the marvellous nature of which prove equally the 
dexterity of the actors, and the credulity of the spectators — 
Our earlier writers upon Indian manners detail with great 
simplicity these evidences of a communication with evil spi- 
rits ; and 1 have heard aged and respectable Canadians relate 
facts, which they supposed occurred before their own eyes, 
■not less inconsistent with the ordinary operations of nature, 
than with the powers of a superintending Providence. These 
Wabe-no are not only priests and prophets, but physician?, 
In September, 1819, during the treaty at Saginaw, Kish-ka- 
kon, the principal Chief of the Chippewas, was taken sick, 
He was offered medicine and the attendance of our physician, 
but having no confidence in eitner, he declined the often 
He sent for one of these men to effect a cure, and I saw him 
soon after the operation. He was afflicted with a chronic 
rheumatism, and complained much of a violent pain in his 
side. He told me, however, that the Wa-beno had extract- 
ed a part of the disorder, and that there was no doubt of a 
perfect cure. It appeared that the operator, after many un- 
meaning ceremonies, had applied a hollow bone to the affect- 
ed part, by means of which he pretended to suck out the dis- 
order. He possessed the power of regurgitating a small por. 
tionofthe contents of the stomach, and this he discharged 
from his mouth into a vessel. His credulous patient believed 
that it was extracted from the seat of the disorder. 

One of these men was sent by a respectable Canadian to a 
gentleman in Detroit, who was dangerously affected by an 
imposthume in his thigh. This man undertook the same 
process ; but, having around him more acute observers than 



-Illustration^ Y5 

lie had before known, his whole operation was easily detect* 
«d. One of his feats, which excited the greatest wonder 
among the Indians, was thrusting into his throat a stick 23 
inches long. Kish-kakon was firmly persuaded, that some 
enemy had, as they express it, thrown medicine at him — that 
is, had, by means of the Wa~be-no, induced the evil spirit fep 
afflict him. This is a very prevailing superstitious notion 
among the Indians. When they are sick, or any accident 
happens to them, or they are unable to kill an abundant sup* 
ply of game, this is the ready solution of the difficulty. . 
A few months since, an Indian applied to me for some 
whisky. I inquired of him for what purpose he wanted it. 
He answered, that four years before, some person had thrown 
medicine at him, and that he had not been able, since that 
time, to kill any game. He wanted the whiskey to make a 
feast, the sovereign panacea for Indian misfortunes, and thus 
-to be enabled to resume his employment as a hunter. 
- The Indians apply, under different circumstances, to the 
good and the bad spirit; and the ceremonies in these diffe- 
rent cases are entirely dissimilar. My information does not 
enable me to state with precision, what circumstances deter- 
mine to whom the application shall be made. Generally, 
however, in all important questions affecting the tribe, and 
•in all cases where supernatural assistance is required, the ap- 
plication is made to the good spirit. Where the object is to 
ascertain a future event, or to discover any thing which is 
-lost, the inquirer is sent to the evil spirit. The same class of 
men are employed in each case ; but no present must be made 
When the good spirit is consulted. Being desirous of seeing 
the mode in which these tricks are executed, I requested one 
of the Wa-be-no to permit me to be present at the ceremony. 
He assented to my request — and was directed to ascertafnlhe 
situation of some article accidentally lost. This farce was 
necessary, as he peremptorily refused to consult the evil spi- 
rit, unless some question were proposed for solution. Six 
stout poles were firmly placed in the ground in a hexagonal 
form. These poles were ten feet in height, and the diameter 
"•f-the enclosure was, perhaps, lour feet, lioimd these polef, 



76 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

on the outside, a number of blankets were stretched, and se- 
curely fastened. These blankets entirely intercepted the 
view ; and after the Wa-be-no had crawled in, the place of 
his entrance was shut and he was concealed trom observation. 
The ceremony took place at night, and it thus became im- 
possible to observe, with any accuracy, the progress of the 
imposture. 

Immediately on his entrance, the poles were violently agi- 
tated, and he began a monotonous recitation, which I under- 
stood to be an invocation to the evil spirit to make his ap- 
pearance. After some time the agitation increased, and we 
were informed that the evil spirit was about to appear. Pro- 
found silence was observed by the surrounding spectators, and 
another voice was heard from the lodge. It was then obvi- 
ous, that the object of the Wa-be-no was, to induce his audi- 
tory to believe the evil spirit was conversing with him. For 
this purpose he changed as much as possible the tone of his 
voice, and spoke at one time close to the ground, and at ano- 
ther, at the greatest height to which he could attain. The 
deception was so gross, and the whole ceremony so tedious 
and uninteresting, that I retired without waiting for the ter- 
mination. 

When the good spirit is consulted, a feast is given, and a 
dog sacrificed. This dog is hoisted to the top of a long paint- 
ed pole, and left in this situation. The Wa-be-no then re- 
tires to " thtnk," sitting down with his head upon his hands, 
and his elbows resting upon his knees. In this situation, the 
answer of the good spirit is communicated to him. 

Arise, to war— with fellest whoop. 

Page 20, line 32. 

That peculiar modulation of voice, which constitutes the 
** whoop" of the Indians, has long been known. It is im- 
possible to give any adequate idea of this sound, by a written 
description. It is shrill and pirrcing, and there is a striking 
elevation of the voice at the termination of each cry. 

The Indians have at least four different kinds of whoops, 
the object of three of which is to communicate intelligence U 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 77 

their villages, as the warriors approach on their return from 
any expedition, without the trouble of an immediate expla- 
nation. These whoops are all different, and are perfectly un- 
derstood ; and the convey the desired information, with as 
much precision as one of our gazettes. 

The whoop of joy is uttered by the warriors who return 
from a triumphant expedition, and indicates the number of 
scalps and prisoners they have taken. There is a peculiar 
inflection of it, by which the prisoners are distinguished froaa 
the scalps. The death-whoop designates the number of friends 
who have been killed during the expedition. The whoop of 
intelligence is uttered by a messenger, or other person, who 
lias any thing important to communicate ; and it is used to 
collect those who are within hearing, to receive the informa- 
tion. 

The war whoop is designed to strike their enemies with ter- 
ror, and to inspire their friends with confidence, at the onset 
of a battle. In the silence of the night and in the solitude 
of the forest, this terrific sound is appalling. 

When a party of warriors approach a friendly village, 
they give three distinet wkoops, either of joy or grief, as their, 
situation may require, to prepare the inhabitants for atten- 
tion. After a short pause, they give as many separate whoops 
as there are individuals, at whose fate they rejoice or mourn. 

At the treaty of St. Mary's, in 1818, a small party of Sha- 
wanese returned from a war exeursion against the Osages, 
with a number of scalps. Before they reached <he treaty 
ground, they announced their success by the whoops of joy, 
and the effect was electric upon the Indians. The vast mul- 
titude, who were present, rushed out to meet the returning 
warriors. The object appeared to be to seize the scalps, which 
were borne on poles, from those who carried them, and to 
hasten with them to their camps. I do not know whether any 
peculiar distinction was attached to the successful individual* 
in this strife, but certainly more exertions could not have 
been used, nor more zeal exhibited, had the object been to 
attack their enemies. Old and young joined the throng, and 
the scalps were snatched from hand to hand, and changed 
owners many times, before they reached their destination. 



78 ILLUSTRATIONS 

Whose lengthen 'd trench and mound enseal** 
The banks of many a winding stream. 

Page 42, lines 11 and 1Z 

The remains of ancient art, which are scattered througk 
the western regions, have been the subject of observation 
since our first knowledge of the country. It is doubtful whe- 
ther much real progress has been made in the investigation, 
of this interesting inquiry. When, by whom, and why, these 
monuments of human industry were erected— are question* 
which, perhaps, will never be satisfactorily solved. The facts 
in our possession are not sufficiently numerous, to enable us 
to form even a plausible conjecture upon the subject.— Thei r 
extent and variety, instead of aiding, bewilder us. The la- 
bour of their erection is as much beyond the power of the 
present race of Indians, as the works themselves are unsuited, 
to any purposes to which they could apply them. Their con- 
struction must have required a degree of skill in the plan, and 
of indefatigable industry in the execution, equally incompa-. 
tible with the intellectual acquirements and present habits of 
the Indians. 

These works are scattered through the whole valley of the, 
Ohio, and through much of the Mississippi country. They 
are found as far north, at least, as Lake Pepin. They are 
not confined to any particular situation. We find them on 
hills and in valleys ; in positions favourable to military de- 
fence, and in others, where they are completely commanded 
by elevated ground, and where defence would be impracti- 
cable. 

A supply of water has not been deemed an indispensable" 
requisite. Between Detroit and Chicago, in the midst of an 
immense plain, and remote from any stream, one of these 
works yet remains. There are others similarly situated, with 
regard to water j and upon the Muskingum there are some 
on the moht arid and elevated hills. 

They are found in every state of preservation, and decay. 
In some, the walls are at least fifteen feet high, particularly 
near Newark and Lebanon, in Ohio- and the whole work is 
as distinct as it was upon the day of its completion. Others 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 79 

have almost mouldered away, and it is difficult to distinguish 
them from natural inequalities of ground. Some of them 
have ditches, and some are without ; and these ditches are as 
often found on the inside as on the outside of the walls.-- 
There is an elevated mound in Marietta, enclosed with a 
wall, and having a ditch between the wall and the mound; — 
It is impossible that this wall and ditch could have been mace 
for any purposes of defence, because the elevation of the 
mound, which occupies the whole interior space, would have 
exposed those within to the attack of the assailants. Their 
form is as various as their situation. They are square, round, 
elliptical, hexagonal, and in almost every shape which fancy 
can imagine. 

Their existence is a wonder, to which there is nothing com- 
parable in our country. To account for their original erec- 
tion, we are driven to conjecture, either that another race of 
men, superior in every social and intellectual quality to our 
present Indians, once inhabited these regions, and were whol- 
ly extirpated or expelled; or that the descendants of this 
people have forgotten the most useful arts of life, and Jiave 
lost all remembrance of their own origin, with all the tradi- ; 
tions of their ancestors. 

Mr. Atwater. of Circleville, in Ohio, has evinced a laudable 
zeal to collect all the facts upon this subject, which now re- 
main. It is to be hoped that his exertions will not be fruit- 
less ; but that he will be aided by all, who are competent to 
prosecute the investigation. The time is rapidly passing^ 
away when plans and elevations of these places can be taken. 
They will soon disappear before the , plough and the other 
changes of civilization, and we shall regret, when too late, 
that no extensive information has been collected, from which 
some rational induction can be drawn, respecting these evi- 
dences of ancient industry which yet withstand the shock of 
time. 

I have been credibly informed, that among the ancient 
belts preserved by the Wyandots are some which relate to 
the people who erected these works, and to the history of 
their war* and final discomfiture. It is customary among 



80 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

the Indians to prepare a belt for every important fact inte- 
resting to the nation. These belts are preserved with great 
care among the public archives, and are, in fact, the records 
of their history. The traditions are transmitted with great 
minuteness, and the belts are not only evidences of the fact, 
but, by the powers of association, aid the memory of those 
whose duty it is to preserve them. If these belts relate to 
those remote events, they were undoubtedly ma^e at the 
time when the events occurred ; and may be considered as 
authentic documents, coeval with the foundation of these 
works. The tradition is, that they were built for the purpose 
of defence ; and that their founders, after many years of san- 
guinary warfare, were expelled, and sought refuge in the 
country southwest of the Mississippi The present race of 
Indians claim to be the descendants of the conquerors. 

Lest thou shouldst fail the feast to share, 
Our gathering bands will soon prepare. 

Page 24, lines 3 and 4. 

A feast generally concludes every important ceremony in 
which the Indians engage. Their war and hunting excur- 
sions, their councils, their funerals and marriages, are all ac- 
companied by the appropriate feast Some of these feasts are 
given by individuals, who generally invite the whole village. 
Others are at the common expense, and all who participate, 
bring some part of the provisions. 

When a man gives an entertainment of this nature, it is 
expected that his guest will eat all the provisions which are 
placed before him. Fortunately for the preservation of this 
rule, there probably never was a race of men better qualified 
for the observance of such a custom. Their appetite is vora- 
cious, and their powers of eating beyond any example known 
among civilized nations. 

I saw a feast among the Sioux, upon the Mississippi, from 
which the guests retired backwards, carrying with them their 
dishes rilled with victuals. I could not learn the meaning of 
this ceremony. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 81 

For stern composure, full of thought, 
Had to his mien submission taught, 
And bliss or wo pass'd o'er his mind, 
Nor light nor shadow left behind. 

Page 39, line 15, %c. 

The indifference of the Indians to external circumstances, 
is a prominent trait in heir character. This indifference i& 
habitually acquired, and is similar in its effects to the stoical 
fortitude of antiquity. It is not alone in pain and grief that 
any display of their feelings is suppressed. The gentle affec- 
tions of the heart, although powerfully felt, are yet carefully 
concealed. When an Indian returns, after considerable ab- 
sence, to his family, he affects to be cold and careless, and he 
suffers much time to elapse before he enters into familiar 
conversation. I have seen intimate friends, after a long se- 
paration, meet and pass each other like strangers. They have 
none of the courtesies of life ; nor do they affect, by a cordial 
salutation, an attachment which rhey do not feel. 

This abstraction from the effect of external circumstances, 
accompanies them in every situation of life. An Indian 
bears pain with fortitude, he fancies danger without fear, and 
meets death with calmness. His character and importance 
depend not only on active courage, but also on this patient 
resignation to adverse circumstances, and this calm contempt 
of untoward events. That man ha; observed human nature 
with a careless eye, who has not ducuvered how much rarer 
the latter quality is than the former. 

Now gathers round the warlike throng, 
Prepared for feast and dance and song. 

Page 39, lines 23 and 24. 

When circumstances have inclined the minds of the In- 
xlians to war, a Council is convened, in which the subject is 
fully investigated, and finally determined. After the war is 
declared, the authority of the village or peace Chiefs entirely 
-ceases, and the power is transferred to the war Chiefs. 

Their government, if government it may be called, is one 
of opinion only. No direct authority is ever exerted; and 
their war expeditions are composed of volunteers, who join and 
leave the party at their pleasure. When it is determined to 
uudejrtake an expedition, all the warriors are assembled, and a 
D 2 



&$ It LUSTRATIONS. 

feast is prepared. The principal Chief then takes hli toma- 
hawk, or war club, upon which the head of the enemy ifr 
sculptured, and begins to move. Sometimes, however, a 
war belt, made for this purpose, is carried. The tomahawk, 
or club, is held in a threatening position, and the Chief slow- 
ly passes in front of every individual, singing, as he moves, 
his war song. This war song is not the usual boasting reca- 
pitulation of their exploits, which is occasionally made by 
the warriors in their dances—and which is a mere recitation, 
without any attempt at harmony. The words of the song 
are strictly adapted to the music. The sentiment, in all the 
song-, is a mere repetition of a few leading ideas, and is con- 
stantly renewed in the progress of the Chief— who marches 
to the time of his own music. 

The following specimens will convey to the reader a gene- 
ral notion of these songs. (They were actually sung upon 
important occasions.) 

U I will! ill — I will kill— the Big Knives, I will kill." 
" Ne-gau-ne-saw— ne-gau-ne-saw— Kichi-mau-le-sa, ne-gau- 
ne-saw." 

The Indian words in this song are Miami. 

•« I will go and get my friends— I will go and get my friends. 
I am anxious to see my enemies— I am anxious to see my 
enemies. A clear sky is my friend, and it is him I am seek- 
ing." m 

" A clear sky" is a metaphorical expression, and convey* 
to an Indian the same ideas which are conveyed to us by the 
words, good fortune. 

The manner in which these words are sung cannot be de- 
scribed to the reader. There is a strong aspiration of the 
breath at the commencement of each sentence, and a sudden 
elevation of the voice at the termination. The Chief, as he 
passes, looks every person sternly in the face : those who are 
disposed to join the expedition, exclaim Yeh, Yeh, Yeh, with 
a powerful tone of voice j and this exclamation is continually 
repea< e d during the whole ceremony. It is, if I may so speak, 
the evidence of their enlistment. Those who are silent de- 
cline the invitation. 

After the Chief has procured as many volunteers as possi- 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 85 

hie, he delivers the tomahawk to another Chief. The latter 
then repeats the same process. Particular prejudice or par- 
tialities may induce the warriors to follow one Chief in pre- 
ference to another ; and efforts are therefore made by all, to 
increase the strength of the party. The whole ceremony is 
terminated by a general feast 

In the year 1776 during the administration of Lieutenants 
Governor Hamilton at Detroit, a large number of Indian 
warriors were assembled, in order that they might be indu- 
ced to co-operate with the British in the war which had been 
commenced. They were drawn up in two lines, extending 
from the river to the woods; their kettles and fires were be- 
tween the lines. An ox was killed, and his head cut off; a 
large tomahawk was then struck into the head, and thus 
loaded, it was presented to the Governor. He was requested 
to sing his war song along the whole line of the Indians. 

The ox's head represented the head of an American ; and 
as the British were the principals in the war, it was necessary 
for them to take up the tomahawk first. The Lieutenant, 
Governor was embarrassed by the novelty of his situation, 
and by his own ignorance of the language and songs of the 
Indians. He was extricated, in a manner equally happy and 
ludicrous, by his Interpreter. The latter instructed his site 
perior to sing the following words, in French ! — 
Quand j'irai a la guerre-ruh - 
J'emporterai ma grand euiiiere-ruh. 

The monosyllable at the end of each line, is only intended 
to mark the elevation of the voice, and the prolongation of 
the last syllable. 

These words corresponded with the necessary tune, and were 
sung with all the gravity and dignity suited to the occasion. 
As the Lieutenant Governor passed the immense assemblage, 
he sung his song and fixed his eyes upon the Indians, who 
made the air resound with their cries of Yeh, Yeh, Yeh. — < 
They concluded, of course, that the great warrior was threat- 
ening with dreadful vengeance, the Big Knives, the rebel- 
lious children of their British father. 

The second oiiicer in command, Mr. Hayes, was relieved 
by a similar expedient. The, ingenious Interpreter composed 



84 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

the following song, which possessed the same advantage of 
an accompaniment to the music. 

J'ai le talon, au bout du pied. 
The ordinary war dance is peculiarly appropriate at the de- 
parture of the warriors upon any expedition, or upon their 
return : but it is used at all times, by the young men, as an 
exercise and amusement. When they are disposed to under- 
take this dance, they strip themselves almost naked, and 
paint their faces and bodies agreeably to the taste of every 
individual. It is probable that this custom has its origin in a 
desire to strike terror into their enemies, by the horrible al- 
ternations of light and shade, with which they are daubed. 
The imagination cannot draw a stronger picture of the inha- 
bitants of the infernal regions, than is presented by these 
dances. Every person holds in his hands a weapon ; and their 
heads are adorned with a great display of feathers and other 
appropriate ornaments. Hollow cylinders of wood, resem- 
bling drums, covered with dressed skin at one end, are beat 
for the purpose of marking time. 

Their mode of dancing is, by continually jumping up and / 
down, sometimes in the same place, and sometimes advanc- 
ing. Their muscular exertions, upon these occasions, is great: 
Every limb, and almost every muscle, are in action ; and the 
whole frame is in a continued state of tension. They keep 
time with perfect precision, and no eye can detect the slight- 
est variation. They brandish their weapons in every direc- 
tion ; and I have been often surprised that accidents do not 
occur on such occasions Knives and tomahawks are aimed 
with apparently fatal precision ; but are turned with great 
dexterity, before they inflict the threatened wound. Every 
warrior continually repeats the well known sound Yeh, in 
the most forcible manner. 

After they have danced some time, one of them steps to a 
post, previously secured in the ground for this purpose, and 
violently strikes it with his weapon. Instantly the music, 
and the exclamations, and the dancing, cease; and every 
warrior is prepared to hear a tale of " daring." The person 
who has struck then recoUiits his exploits. He speaks with 
great emphasis and violent gesticulation, — describes the num* 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 85 

ber of the enemy whom he has killed ; the mode in which he 
accomplished it, nnd the dangers he encountered. He relates 
the most minute circumstances, and shows the manner in 
which he crept silently upon his enemy, and took aim at his 
heart. He exhibits his scars, and relates the occasions upon 
which he received them. 

After he has concluded, all the Indians present give a ge- 
neral shout, to testify their admiration of his prowess. The 
dance then recommences, and is again interrupted in a si- 
milar manner. 

The star of day was just descending 

Page 49, line 28. 

The hostile attacks of the Indians are almost always made 
in the night; and generally a short time before day. They 
are not as vigilant and watchful in defence, as they are in at- 
tack. Nothing can exceed the caution and silence with which 
they move, and they frequently enter their enemy's camp be- 
fore the latter is apprized of their approach. The melancho- 
ly catastrophe, which closed the campaign of General St. 
Clair, in 1791, is matter of historic record. About daylight 
he was attacked by the Indians ; and after a feeble and de- 
sultory resistance, his army was dispersed or destroyed. Ge- 
neral Harrison narrowly escaped the same fate at Tippecano ; 
and he owed his success to his own skill and experience, and 
to the valour and discipline of his troops. 

The effect of this mode of attack upon men suddenly awak- 
ened from profound sleep, may be readily appreciated. The 
stillness and solitude of the night are interrupted by the In- 
dian war-whoop— one of the shrillest and most terrific sounds 
that can be imagined : at the instant of uttering this horrible 
yell, which is well calculated to dismay their enemy, the as- 
sailants commence their attack; and this sound is heard 
above the ordinary accompaniments of the battle. 

When we review the peculiar adaption of their tactics to 
the description of their forces, and to the nature of their war- 
fare, it is certainly surprising that their campaigns have not 
generally terminated more successfully. To an intimate 
knowledge of the theatre of operations, they join ceaseless 



%$ ILLUSTRATIONS. 

caution, great personal intrepidity, a power of enduring the 
extremes of fatigue and hunger, which rarely fall to our lot, 
and all those " circumstances of war," which are calculated 
to inspire them with confidence, and to depress the spirit of 
their enemies. But thoy have no combination in their move- 
ments: their attacks are, in fact, the efforts of individuals : 
and the authority of their Chiefs is feeble and useless. That 
result of discipline and subordination, which renders every 
combatant an effective part of one great machine, is wholly 
unknown to them,, — and their operations are thus without 
concert in the plan, and without union in the execution. 

And tinged the pile with gloomy light, 
Which stood before the captive's sight. 

Page 54, lines 17 and 18. 
And thus, amid the insulting throng, 
Raised high and bold his victim song. 

Page 54, lines 27 and 28. 
The custom of sacrificing prisoners by the Indians to their 
own baleful passions is well known ; and the instances of 
this shocking ceremony are numerous and authentic, A 
small proportion of the captives, however, are thus murder- 
ed : many of them are adopted inf o different families, to sup- 
ply the loss of deceased relatives, and are treated, in every 
respect, like the natural members of the family — But when 
an important Chief is killed, or when the surviving relatives 
of a warrior who has fallen in battle are anxious to revenge 
his death, an unfortunate captive is selected for this sacrifice. 
These devoted victims of savage cruelty are usually burn- 
ed at the stake. Among the Miamis, a hoop is passed round 
the neck, and fastened to a cord, which is tied to another 
hoop connected with a post. This post is firmly secured in 
the ground ; and the limbs of the unfortunate sufferer are 
free Fires are kindled on four sides of the post — and the 
Indians, with lighted hickory bark, compel the wretched 
being to move round this infernal apparatus of cruelty and 
death. Hours are thus spent in this scene of torment, until 
human nature sinks exhausted ; or until some Indian, more 
humane, or more strongly excited than the others by the 
keen and boastful death -song of the sufferer, terminates by 



illustrations; iff 

& sudden stroke, his sufferings and their persecutions. Among 
the Kickapoos, a frame is built, to which the captive is at-, 
tached by his hands and feet; and he thus slowly perishes 
without the power of motion. 

Examples of the most heroic fortune have been exhibited 
under these awful circumstances. The Indians appear to be 
prepared to suffer pain with indifference, as well as to inflict 
it without mercy. In whatever situation they may be placed, 
whether as persecutors or as sufferers, their spirit is excited, 
to the highest point of elevation. It is the object of the one 
party to torment with the greatest ingenuity, and to protract, 
to the last hour, the death of the victim. The other sings 
his death-song, and exhibits his contempt for his enemies by 
every reproachful epithet, and by every provoking tale :— 
He recounts the number of their warriors whom he has kill- 
ed in battle ; of their women and children whom he has 
murdered ; and of the injuries, insults, and cruelties, he has 
inflicted upon their nation. His song is commonly interrupt- 
ed by the tomahawk of some indignant foe. 
. In the year 1774, a war-party of the Kickapoos made an 
eruption into the country of the southern Indians. A priso- 
ner was taken, and sentenced to be burned. The sentence 
was executed on the Vermilion river; and I have been told, 
by a person present, that a more striking example of forti- 
tude, and of elevated feelings, cannot be imagined. He ap- 
peared wholly abstracted from all corporeal sufferings. And 
though the pain must have been intense and exquisite, from 
the fierce zeal displayed by his enemies to conquer his proud 
spirit, yet not a word, look, or motion, evinced the slightest 
regard to his own situation. I cannot persuade myself to give 
details of this horrible contest between the power to inflict 
and the capacity to suffer. The captive sung his death-song 
in the loudest and fiercest strain, and repeatedly gave the 
whoop of joy, which is exclusively appropriated to the con. 
quering warrior. His resolution finally triumphed ; for one 
of his enemies, frantic with passion, shot him through the 
heart. 

During our revolutionary war, a father and son were taken 
p&onerj by the Miamis, in some part of Kentucky. The fa» 



88 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

ther was advanced in years, and the son on the verge of man* 
hood. The latter was burned at Massisinneway. "When the 
Sentence was communicated to the unfortunate captives, the 
father entreated that he might die for his son ; but his re- 
quest was refused, and the interesting young man bore the 
torments of his enemies more than three hours, in the pre- 
sence of his father. ****** 

Thanks to the knowledge of our feelings and institutions, 
which the Indians have acquired, this horrible custom has 
nearly disappeared. Their own manners have become me- 
liorated by their contact with us. During the late war, in- 
stances of savage cruelty were frequent and atrocious ; and 
the awful catastrophe at the River Raisin, in which, how- 
ever, to the disgrace of Christianity and civilization, the guilt 
does not attach to them only, has long since been disclosed 
to our country and to the world. But I have not heard that 
any prisoners were burned ; nor were they often murdered, 
after the passions excited by the battle had time to subside. 
Connected with these barbarous sacrifices, a singular and 
shocking institution existed among the Miamis and Kicka- 
f)OOs, to which no parallel can be found among the other 
tribes, nor, perhaps, in the whole record of human depravity. 
A society existed, called et the man-eaters," whose duty it 
was to eat any prisoners devoted to this horrible purpose by 
those who captured them. This society was coeval with the 
-earliest traditions of either tribe ; and the institution was as- 
sociated with religious sentiments, and with feelings of re- 
verence in the minds of the Indians. Its members belonged 
to one family, called " the bear," which, however, included 
many individuals. They were admitted into the society by a 
secret and solemn initiation, and with many imposing cere- 
monies. This right, or duty, for I cannot ascertain in which 
light the admission was viewed, extended to males and fe- 
males i and the whole number, at the period to which my 
information relates, was about twenty. But I am ignorant 
whether there was any limitation of number, except by the 
exclusion of individuals from the sacred family. 

On ordinary occasions, when a prisoner is sacrificed, it is 
•done to gratify the revenge of the near relations of a fallen 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 89 

warrior: but when these relatives are strongly excited, 
either in consequence of the natural strength of their passions, 
or of a peculiar attachment to the deceased, or of any imcom-> 
mon circumstances attending his death, the prisoner is then 
sentenced to a specific death and to be delivered to the " Man- 
eaters." They take possession of him, and execute him in 
conformity with the sentence. After being delivered to them 
there is no power to ransom him : his fate is irreversibly 
fixed. 

In the year 1780, an American captive was sacrificed at 
Fort Wayne. There were ten men and three women, mem- 
bers of the society, present, who conducted the ceremony.— 
An effort was made by the traders to save the life of the vic- 
tim : goods to a considerable value were offered for this pur- 
pose, but in vain. At the commencement of the prepara- 
tions, another messenger was sent with a quantity of spirits, 
the most valuable article which could be offered to effect the 
object. He barely escaped with his life from the fury of the 
society, who were thus interrupted in their duties by unwel- 
come importunities ; and the spirits were instantly spilt upon 
the ground. After the prisoner was dead, his body was car- 
ried to a retired camp, cut up, and boiled. It was then eaten 
by the members of the society. The cooking utensils, and 
other articles used upon these occasions, were kept in a small 
separate lodge, and were never used for any other purpose. 

One of the members of this society, called " White Skin," 
an influential Miami Chief, is yet living. But the institu- 
tion itself has disappeared ; and such is the change in the 
feelings of the Indians upon these subjects, that he is some- 
times reproached with this connexion, formerly so much ve- 
nerated and respected. It has been stated that the celebrated 
Chief, Little Turtle, was active in the abolition of this horri- 
ble practice. Such an exertion was in unison with his cha- 
racter and principles. 

There is no doubt, however, but that the general feelings 
of the age are gradually making their way into the fastnesses 
of the Indians, and that these feelings have principally con- 
tributed to this happy result. Cannibals have doubtless exist- 
ed in certain ages and nations of the world : and although 



90 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

the details of the practice are involved in some obscurity, yet 
the leading facts are indisputable. B Jt, probably, no parti- 
cular body of men was ever before set apart for this purpose, 
and required to devour a miserable being, in order that the 
revenge of bereaved friends might be more exemplary. It is 
an atrocious refinement of vengeance, to which the history 
of the world may be challenged for a parallel. 

It may be regretted that there are no traditionary accounts 
of the institution of this society. We are utterly at a loss to 
conjecture how it was established, why, and by whom. But 
its history is lost in the lapse of ages, and all that is left for 
us is, while we explore the facts which now remain, to re- 
joice at the gradual melioration which is taking place in the 
manners and feelings of the Indians. 

[Since the foregoing memorandum of the Man-eating So- 
ciety was made, the following more minute particulars have 
been received from thepresent principal Chief of the Miamis. 
—The general name of the family, to which the society is ex- 
clusively confined — the name which it has always borne— is 
Ons-e-won-sa. The word has no precise or known meaning. 
The name of the present head of the family is Am co-me-we- 
au-kee, or the Man-eater; whose family, in all its branches, 
now consists of fifteen or twenty members. The succession 
is continued in the male line ; and the eldest male living is 
always the head. There is no ceremony of initiation , — no 
extraneous members can be admitted : the members are born 
into the society, and have no choice but to inherit its atro- 
cious privileges. When a victim is selected, his face is paint- 
ed black ; and, after he has been given up to the society, his 
fate is irrevocable. New utensils must be provided for every 
new sacrifice Every member of the society is bound in duty 
to partake of the horrible repast,— -infants and all; but, al- 
though public, no other person dares profane the sanguinary 
ceremony. During, or at the conclusion of the feast, the 
head repeats, for the instruction of the younger members, its 
tradition and its duties.— The Chief above alluded to, says, 
that the society is now seldom mentioned, and a disuse of its 
practices for more than thirty years, has obliterated almost 
every thing connected with it, excepting its name and its 
members.] 



^sents. 



BY JAMES GODWIN BROOKS, ES&. 



3$oemf$. 



TO TIME. 

Triumphant Time ! thy wayward course began 

Ere young creation's bloom was fresh and new— * 

When to illume the heritage of Man 

The light of Eden sparkled on the view : — 

When earth was fair, and every breeze that blew 

Across her bosom murmured gently by, 

Full-fraught with fragrance ; ere the tempest flew 

In fearful gloominess to veil the sky, 

To shroud its beams and hide its golden dye. 

Then Man was happy, innocent and young— 
His hope unclouded as the heaven above ; 
Then angel woman to his bosom clung 
And wakened all her witchery of love- 
She came from heaven like the Almighty dove 
To win his soul with seraph tenderness, 
Her flowery bonds of bliss she interwove 
To bind his spirit in her fond caress, 
And life was blessed, bright, and sorrowless. 

Then, then, O Time! thy wing was waving light 
To fan the flowers that beautified thy way- 
Then was existence teeming with delight, 
And sparkling in a gay and glorious day- 
Then was the spirit, in its mortal clay, 
Breathing as with a pure celestial glow ; 
But sin and sorrow came in dread array 
To blight the buds and lay the blossoms low. 
And earth became an heritage of wo. 



§4 TO TIME. 

Ah ! mournful change — that paradise, so fair, 
So beautiful and fragrant in its bloom, 
And glorious spring, and primal freshness— there 
Came Melancholy in her shroud of gloom, 
And Care to waste, to wither, and consume 
The aching spirit in untimely blight — 
Then bent the soul of Man beneath its doom, 
When Innocence and Virtue took their flight 
And left the world involved in Sorrow's night. 
' Yet still hath Man a ray of bliss on earth— 
The garden of his life hath still a hue, 
While shines his morning in its hour of mirth, 
Cloudless awhile, and robed as yet in blue :— 
That germ of paradise, so fair to view, 
Is fond Affection's first and purest spring, 
When each emotion of the heart is true, 
Ere hope hath lost her buoyancy of wing, 
Or the cold world hath brought its withering. 

O ! ever dear and hallowed be the hour 
W T hen angel Love descends on rosy wing, 
To cull the blossoms in life's young May bower, . 
And lull the anguish of Affliction's sting — 
O ! ever blessed be that holy spring 
Whence flow the streams of love and faithfulness, 
In purest waves of gentle murmuring, 
Shedding a balm on every rude distress — 
Fountains of bliss in the world's wilderness ! 

O ! ever dear and hallowed be the hour ! 
Let youth enjoy it ere its sweets are fled ; 
Ere the dark storms of destiny shall lour 
And break in rude commotion o'er the head ; 
When the fierce shaft of misery hath sped 
Unto the breast, and griefs are gathering rife, 
The memory of its blessings shall be shed, 
A beam of gladness on the world of strife ! 
A rainbow on the shrouded sky of life ! 



TO TIME, 95 

Subduer Time ! — stern conqueror of all- 
Avenger of the follies of mankind ! 
Pride, honor, power, and grandeur, own thy thrall, 

And,are by thee to nothingness consigned : 

But canst thou master the immortal mind ?— - 
There, all in vain, dost thou thy fury pour : 
Its march is onward — free and unconfined — 
Such as the Roman annals showed of yore, 
And such as glorified the Grecian shore. 

O ! there was glory's consecrated clime, 
"Where Sappho breath'd, and where Anacreon sun<^ 
Where genius flourished in the olden time, 
And dwelt upon the Athenian's gifted tongue— 
!His, who the thunderbolts at Philip flung, 

And urged his countrymen the fight to dare- 

Where heaven itself a Homer's lyre had strung 
With chords that echoed sweetly on the air, 
As if the melody of heaven was there ! 

And there was Valour's spirit, proud and high, 
Which shone resplendent on the cloud of war, 
Where Mars himself poured forth his battle-cry 
And lash'd the coursers to his blood-dyed car, 
As shone the ray of conquest from afar, 
The beacon of each hero, on whose eye 
It beamed a guiding and a natal star, 
Like Israel's fiery pillar, streaming high 
And blazing bright athwart the Egyptian sky [ 

There fell the Spartan — fearlessly he fell, 

And smil'd in the red agony of death 

Yea, there was triumph in his battle-knell, 

And victory in every ebb of breath : 

Undying glory twined the laurel wreath 

Round the lone cypress that o'ershades the grave, 

Memorial of the one who slept beneath, 

Of him whose life-blood pour'd forth like the wave; 

The young— the proud — the generous— the brave \ 



96 TO TIME. 

Undying glory ! — Man may pass away 
Like the light bubble floating on the stream, 
Like the expiring blossom of a day, 
Or the frail dew-drop in the sunny beam :— 
Yes, short and transitory is his dream 
Of youthful love, joy's evanescent hour, 
Of hope's beguiling and bewitching theme ; 
But when the storms of fate and ages lower, 
Glory defies and mocks their baleful power. 

For this, all time hath hallowed the high name 
Of Helle's chieftain, and of those who led 
The bold ten-thousand of immortal fame 
Thro' slaughter s fields, o'er heaps of Persian dead; 
And of that brave Miltiades, who sped 
Even as a lion from the forest lair, 
To hasten where war's banner was outspread 
And waving like a silver cloud in air, 
To try the bloody strife > to fight, to triumph there. 

For this, the unfading light of glory smiles 
On the blue Dardanelles, and on the bay 
Where in their beauty spread Iona's isles, 
Wash'd and enwreath'd around by ocean's spray :— 
For this, eternal summer sheds her ray 
On high Parnassus, and that Helicon 
Where the Muse chanted her bewitching lay 
In days of yore : — that melody is gone — 
And those loved bowers are desolate and lone. 

Yes, here — O! here the scythe of Time hath swept, 
The torch of Time hath gone abroad to burn, 
And here, for many an age, hath genius slept, 
But not unhonoured, in the noiseless urn : — 
Still doth the eye, with kind expression, turn 
To that illustrious and all hallowed clime, 
The light of former ages to discern, 
When genius flourished in its lofty prime, 
And the mind sprung triumphant over Time ! 



TO THE DYING YEAH. gy 

And thus it is — Kingdoms may fail in dust 

The coronals of empire may decay 

The sceptre perish, and the helmet rust, 

And power and proud dominion pass away 

These are the transient baubles of a day ; 

But the mind glows in its immortal bloom, 
And genius sheds an unextinguished ray 
Upon life's scenes of dreariness and gloom, 
Victorious over Time — victorious o'er the'tomb ! 



TO THE DYING YEAR. 

Thou desolate and dying year i 
Emblem of transitory man, 
Whose wearisome and wild career 
Like thine is bounded to a span ; 
It seems but as a little day 
Since nature smil'd upon thy birth, 
And Spring came forth in fair array, 
To dance upon the joyous earth. 

Sad alteration — now how lone 

How verdureless is nature's breast, 
Where ruin makes his empire known. 
In Autumn's yellow vesture drest ; 
The sprightly bird, whose carol sweet 

Broke on the breath of early day 

The Summer flowers she lov'd to greet 

The bird— the flowers, O ! where are they? 

Thou desolate and dying year ! 
Yet lovely in thy lifelessness, 
As beauty stretched upon the bier 
In death's clay cold, and dark caress; 

E 



$S TO THE DYING YEAR. 

There's loveliness in thy decay, 
Which breathes, which lingers on thee still, 
Like memory's mild and cheering ray 
Beaming upon the night of ill. 

Yet— yet the radiance is not gone 
"Which shed a richness o'er the scene, 
Which smiled upon the golden dawn 
"When skies were brilliant and serene— 
O ! still a melancholy smile 
Gleams upon nature's aspect fair, 
To charm the eye a little while 
Ere ruin spreads his mantle there ! 

Thou desolate and dying year ! 
Since time entwined thy vernal wreath, 
How often love hath shed the tear, 
And knelt beside the bed of death — 
How many hearts that lightly sprung, 
When joy was blooming but to die, 
Their finest chords by death unstrung, 
Have yielded life's expiring sigh^ 

And pillowed low beneath the clay, » 
Have ceased to melt — to breathe — to burn- 
The proud — the gentle, and the gay, 
Gathered unto the mouldering urn — 
Whilst freshly flowed the frequent tear 
For love bereft — affection fled ; 
For all that were our blessings here, 
The loved — the lost — the sainted dead I 

Thou desolate and dying year ! 
The musing spirit finds in thee 
Lessons, impressive and severe, 
Of deep and stern morality — 



TO THE DYING YEAR, 99 

Thou teachest how the germ of youth, 
Which blooms in being's dawning day, 
Planted by nature — rear'd by truth, 
Withers like thee in dark decay. 

Promise of youth ! fair as the form 
Of heaven's benign and golden bow, 
This smiling arch begirds the storm, 
And Jieds a light on every wo ; 
Hope wakes for thee, and to her tongue, 
A tone of melody is given, 
As if her magic voice strung were 
With the empyreal fire of heaven. 

And love which never can expire, 
Whose origin is from on high, 
Throws o'er this morn a ray of fire 
From the pure fountains of the sky ; 
That ray w"hich glows and brightens still, 
Unchanged — eternal, and divine ; 
Where seraphs own its holy thrill, v 
And bow before its gleaming shrine. 

Thou desolate and dying year ! 
Prophetic of our final fall, 
Thy buds are gone— thy leaves are sear., 
Thy beauties shrouded in the pall ; 
And all the garniture that shed 
A brilliancy upon thy prime, 
Hath like a morning vision fled 
Unto the expanded grave of time. 

Time ! Time, in thy triumphal flight, 
How all life's phantoms fleet away ; 
The smile of hope — and young deliglit-~- 
Fame's meteor beam — and fancy's ray : 



100 THE DYING YEAR. 

They fade — and on thy heaving tide, 
Rolling its stormy waves afar, 
Are borne the wrecks of human pride— 
The broken wrecks of fortune's war. 

There in disorder, dark and wild, 
Are seen the fabrics once so high, 
Which mortal vanity had piled 
As emblems of eternity ! e 

And deemed the stately piles, whose forms 
Frowned in their majesty sublime, 
Would stand unshaken by the storms 
That gathered round the brow of time. 

Thou desolate and dying year ! 
Earth's brightest pleasures fade like thine ; 
Like evening shadows disappear, 
And leave the spirit to repine. 
The stream of life that used to pour 
Its fresh and sparkling waters on, 
While fate stood watching on the shore 
And numbered all the moments gone— 

W'here hath the morning splendor flown 
Which danced upon that crystal stream ? 
Where are the joys to childhood known, 
When life was an enchanted dream ?— 
Enveloped in the starless night, 
Which destiny hath overspread— 
Enrolled upon that trackless flight, 
Where the dark wing of time hath sped I 

O ! thus hath life its even-tide 
Of sorrow — loneliness, and grief; 
And thus divested of its pride, 
It withers like the yellow leaf -, 



mermaid's song. 101 

O ! such is life's autumnal bower, 
When plundered of its summer bloom ; 
And such is life's autumnal hour, 
Which heralds man unto the tomb. 



THE MERMAID'S SONG. 

O ! MORTAL come and dwell with me 
Beneath the waves of the crystal sea, 
Where the storms ne'er roll, the winds ne'er sweep 
The moveless calm of the waters sleep : 
I'll bear thee away in my clasping arms 
Afar from the frowning world's alarms— 
From the frosts of wo — from the dark'ning cloud 
Which wraps man's sky in 3 sable shroud ; 
111 bear thee away to the Mermaid s dome, 
En wreathed around with the white sea-foam, 
Where the coral gem its splendour sheds, 
And the sea flowers bloom on their mossy becU. 

The heaven above thee is sweetly blue, 
And winning the blush of the even's hue— 
And sweet the charm of each distant light 
That sparkles upon the arch of night ; 
Yes — dear their charm — but thou dost not know 
How sweet— ^how bright is the magic glow, 
That ever lightens the coral cave, 
Where dwell the maids of the ocean wave, 
And thine eye hath ne'er enraptur'd seen 
The forms that sport in the groves of green, 
Where the Tritons tune the enchanted shell, 
Till the echoes wake in the Mermaid's cell. 



102 mermaid's song. 

O ! thou hast culled the young rose of spring, 
Thou hast heard her wild birds merrily sing — . 
Hast fondly listed their lightsome lay, 
Whilst life passed on as a sunny day. 
Did not hope dream of a fairy land, 
"Where all joys should spring at thy command ? 
Didst thou not drink the fresh fount of bliss 
Where beauty gave thee her seraph kiss?— 
And hast thou gazed on her floating eye 
Till thy bosom throb'd, and thou knew not why ? 
And a joy that could not be express'd 
Hath thrilled like lightning thro' thy breast? 
Till thou hast felt there was only one 
That thou couldst worship as thy sun ?— - 
O ' was she bright as the summer noon, 
And her bosom pure as the vestal moon ? 
Was her maiden heart as undefiled 
As the sweet white rose in the lonely wild ? 
Was her soul as chaste as the falling snow,. 
Before it touches the earth below ? 
Her cheek as wliite as the lily fair 
Which woos the kiss of the western air ? 
Her lips as red as the ruby's dye, 
And heaven's blue brightness in her eye ?—» 
O ! then hath thy life-blood freely moved 
Where thou didst love and wast beloved. 

Have thy heart's best feelings warmly play'd*, 
When thou hast knelt to thy own loved maid ? 
And this earth become a heaven to thee, 
A sweet gay scene of luxury ?— 
Hath the fair enchantment died away 
Like bright sunbeams on a stormy day ? 
And hast thou wept that thy hope was vain, 
A false creation of the brain ? — 
When life's dark scenes came rushing on 
Hast thou not wept that thy dream was gone ?— 



TO CORA. 103 

Thou hast— Then come with the maid of the sea,, 

And that dream shall be fulfilled to thee ! 

If thy heart hath pined in life' s distress— 

If thy path be dark and pleasure! ess ; 

If thy dearest joys have felt decay, 

And thy warmest friends have fled away ; 

Then fly with me from thy scene of pain, 

And memory shall cease to haunt thy brain : 

O ! fly with me from earth's joyless shore, 

And bliss shall dwell with thee evermore I 



TO CORA. 

Beyond the wave — beyond the wave, 
Beyond the stormy ocean's roar, 
Thy form hath found an early grave— 
Thine eye is closed, to beam no more ! 
The clod hath fall'n, the turf hath pressed 
Upon that lovely coffined form — 
The shroud is wrapped around thy breast 
With life and love no longer warm. 
Yet o'er this solitude of soul, 
Which round me sheds a spell malign, 
Thy loved remembrance hath controul 
And bids my spirit not repine- 
But firmly bear the ills that spread 
Their midnight o'er my destiny, 
Where once the light of hope was shed— 
The rainbow hope which glowed for thee. 
Cora — thou wast not formed for eaith— 
So bright thy angel beauty shone, 
So rich in innocence and worth, 
That heaven has claimed thee for its own :■ 



104 TO CORA. 

Yes, in that mild and sparkling eye 
There was a light which led me on-— 
A bright, inviting witchery 
That waked for me, and me alone. 
And, though that eye hath lost its ray, 
Where death has gathered in his cloud, 
Around thy cold and lifeless clay, 
Enwreatbed within the funeral shroud ^— 
Though thou reposest in the dust, 
Thy chord of frail existence riven,— 
It is my hope — it is my trust 
Thy soul is blooming now in heaven ? 

Aye — thou hast perished — and the sod 
Orows in its fiesbness o'er tfye scene, 
Where on thy bosom fell the clod, 
And sorrow told that thou had'st been-— 
Nor did T hear the last farewell 
Which thou didst breathe to love and me— 
Nor did I hear the lonely knell 
Which rung the requiem over thee I 
There was a time my soul could burn 
With ardour for the meed of fame- 
Perchance that season may return 
And time renew that wasted flame; 
W r ilt thou be with me then to share 
The pride and feeling of that hour ? 
Can the cold grave its bosom bare. 
Or life renew the ruined flower? 
Yet, be it so — 'twere wrong to blame 
Or murmur at the dread decree, 
This lonely heart must share the same 
Dark fate which early blighted thee :— - 
Alas, thou wast so fair, so young, 
So beautiful in maiden bloom, 
That all my hopes around thee hung, 
And died, and withered on thy tomb f 



STANZAS. 103 

Had I but dreamed in times long past 
When gazing on that cheek so fair, 
That death thus soon its hue should waste 
And cold destruction riot there ; 
How deeply anguish would have spread 
Its pallid mantle o'er my brow — 
How freely would this heart have bled, 
Whose drops of bliss are frozen now ! 
Yet. Cora, still my soul shall spring 
For aye unalterably thine ; 
Nor e'er renew its offering 
Before another idol's shrine- 
Entombed with thee still be that love 
Which unto thee in life was given- 
Still may its fond remembrance prove 
My charm on earth—- my hope of heaven ! 



* e Had we never met or parted, 

We had ne'er been broken-hearted."— Burns. 

When this dark spirit shall have flown 
From life, as from a dream of pain, 
I would not that thy heart should moan 
Or any grief for me retain ;— 
Nor claim remembrance in thy breast, 
When mine in death's embrace shall rest 
In the grave's pleasureless domain, — 
If it would wring thy heart to dwell 
On thoughts of him who loved thee well. 
D2 



106 STANZAS. 

Yes, I would not that one should weep, 
That one should breathe a sigh for me, 
When o'er my soul descends that sleep 
Which wakes but to eternity ! — 
And, when this being I resign, 
Let one reflection then be mine, 
If in my wayward destiny 
No kindred soul hath held me dear, 
For me no eye hath shed a tear. 

O ! ne'er may thine— for I have knelt, 
In the mind's fond idolatry, 
Unto thy worth, and deeply felt 
That thou wert all the world to me— 
My only flower of life ; and, while 
I hung upon thy seraph smile, 
I deem'd that none on earth could be 
Of fairer cheek or brighter brow, 
Of purer thought or toul, than thou. 

And must I join the giddy crowd 
That bow at wealth or folly's shrine— 
And must I tame this spirit proud 
That never yielded save to thine ? 
Which now, alas ! can find no balm 
To soothe its pain — no power to calm 
The serpents which around it twine, 
Except that tranquil spot where wave 
The midnight banners of the grave. 

For though at times my brow hath smil'd 
Among the careless and the gay, 
It was not that I was beguil'd 
Or gladden'd on my weary way— 



STANZAS. 107^ 

But that the world should never know 
How darkly ruin slept below, 
In this cold heart's decay ; 
How the relentless hand of care 
Hath scattered desolation there. 

Though each emotion hath been crush'd— • 
Each feeling of this bosom wrung ; 
And though the chaunt of joy be hush'd 
Which youthful hope delighted sung; 
Though deep intensity of pain 
Hath brought a madness o'er my brain— 
My spirit still hath clung, 
Through all its stormy destiny, 
Unto its early dream of thee ! 



Heu! quanto minus est, cum reliquis versari, quam tui 
meminisse. 

There is a hand which mine hath press'd, 
But which it ne'er can press again, 

Save in the midnight hour of rest, 
When sleep imparts its fancies vain. 

There is an eye of floating blue, 

Which ever kindly beam'd on me ;«— 

There is a cheek of lily hue, 

Which I, alas ! no more can see. 

There is a smile of gentleness — 

Of sweet and maiden purity—— 
Which oft in visions comes to bless 

The mellow' d eye of memory. 



108 STANZAS. 

There is a name, which I conceal 
Deep in affections sacred shrine—* 

Nor whisper, lest I should reveal 
To any ear this name of mine. 

There is a being, pure and bright 

As the young, bonny flower of May—* 

That was a beam of golden light 
Upon my dark and lonely day. 

There is a heart which mine hath priz*d 
Above all other hearts on earth— 

Which I have dearly idoliz'd 

For all its sweetness — all its worth. 

There is a feeling in this breast— 

Untir'd by time, decay, or care- 
That cannot, will not, be snppress'd, 
But ever glows in freshness there* 



When the bloom of thy cheek shall have faded 

away, 
And death's gloomy impress shall darken thy 

brow — 
When that love-lighted heart shall be cold as the 

clay, 
And that eye lose the lightning which plays from 

it now— 



STANZAS, 109 

O ! think not that when thou art pillowed in earth, 
And thy soul to the bowers of bliss shall have fled, 
That remembrance less fondly will dwell on thy 

worth, 
When the green grass shall flourish and wave o'er 

thy head. 

There is a dark pall which affection must spread 
O'er the young and the lovely reclin'd on the bier, 
When the dreams of enjoyment and fancy have fled, 
And life's gay illusions no more can appear. 

Yet, believe not— believe not, this heart can forget 
The smile and the form it no longer can see— . 
Believe not it ever can cease to regret 
The charms which my spirit hath painted in thee. 

Then whilst others the monument vainly may rear, 
Adorning thy tomb with the trophies of art— 
I'll think of thy beauty — thy worth, with a tear, 
And hallow thy memory deep in my heart. 

Let others with flowers embellish thy grave— 
They pine and they wither away on the stem, 
And the hands that from stealing decay cannot 

save 
Thy form— cannot banish dark ruin from them. 

I'll cherish thy name with no splendour of wo, 
No flowers on thy grave shall be planted by me— 
But whilst the life pulse in this bosom shall flow, 
Each thought of affection shall linger with thee. 



MEMORY. 

O, MEMORY ! when thy glance is cast 

Upon the track of buried years, 
Bewailing joys that long have pass'd, 

And left this world — a world of tears j 
Why dost thou vainly linger still 

O'er life's decay'd and blighted flowers, 
When the lone heart has lost the thrill 

That was so sweet in earlier hours? 

There is a vast and wide domain — 

The lost— the dead, confess thy sway, 
And pass before the mind again, 

In hues which death hath stole away :— 
Again the smile is beaming bright, 

As erst it beam'd when life was young— 
Again their voices breathe delight, 

As in departed hours they sung ! 

Again we gaze upon the face 

Where death hath brooded in his cloud— 
Again, again, onr arms embrace 

Those forms which moulder in the shroud ! 
Away — 'tis all ideal bliss — 

A feverish phantom of the mind — 
The fond embrace— the smile — the kiss, 

Pass onward as the idle wind. 

But yet 'tis anguish to awake, 

And feel that thou art but a dream— 
Anguish like his who ne'er could slake 

His thirst within the mocking stream. 
Yes — yes, it wrings the widow'd breast, 

With throes of keenest agony, 
To paint the joys it once possess'd, 

Which died like meteors on the sea :— 



RETURN OF THE EPERVIER. ill 

Which died — while in their glorious prime, 

And in the freshness of their spring ; 
When o'er the wintry brow of time 

The bird of promise drooped her wing I 
O ! where is that Lethean wave 

Which drown'd each sonow — each despair? 
Behold the calm — the peaceful grave — 

Its secret springs are flowing there ! 



RETURN OF THE EPERVIER. 

u The American sloop of war, Epervier, was wrecked on 
its return from Algiers with the ransomed American cap- 
tives." 

Merrily over the blue water's motion 

Hastened the bark, on the wings of the blast- 
Breasting the surge of the fathomless ocean, 
O'er its deep bosom she rapidly past,— 
And the captives in freedom exulted at last. 

Gaily her streamers unfurled in the gale— 

Proudly her prow broke the breast of the foam: 

The heart of the captive had ceased to bewail, 
And fondly, O fondly, it throbh'd for his home, 
Where free and unfetter'd his footsteps might 



Long had he toiled in a savage domain, 

While soft from his dim eye fell memory's tear- 
Long had he clanked the barbarian's chain, 

And counted the hours of each lingering year- 
Till liberty came with the fleet Epervier ! 



iI2 XHE STREAM OF HOPE. 

Haste, gallant bark, on thy glorious way !— 
Haste, for the storm is encircling the sky ! 

Hude swells the surge — the red meteors play 
O'er the face of the deep — and the wild tem- 
pests fly — 
And shrill is the sound of the water-wraith's cry ! 

Soon sunk the bark in the dark heaving wave- 
Lowly she sunk, in the gathering gloom ; 

The ocean, that witnessed the deeds of the brave, 
Witnessed their dreary and desolate doom : 
The wave was their glory— the wave was their 
tomb ! 



THE STREAM OF HOPE. 

In Spring it murmured sweetly, 

And sparkled bright and fair, 
Its waters rippled sweetly, 

As breathed the balmy air ; 
The sun-beam gilt with brightness 

Its wave of placid blue, 
And heaven's clouds of whiteness 

Their shadows o'er it threw. 

Soon came the Summer hour, 
With all its blooming pride ; 

Then flourish'd many a flower 
Along the shining tide :— 

Ah ! then decay was nearest, 
When all was brightly gay— 

For joys the best — the dearest- 
Are first to fade away. 



THE SELF-MURDERER, 115 

For Autumn *s day of sorrow 

Came sadly moving on ; 
And on that gloomy morrow 

We look'd — the flowers were gone ! 
All gone, the buds we cherish'd, 

When youth and love were new ; 
And e'en the stems had perish'd 

On which the blossoms grew I 

And winter brooded over, 

Wrapp'd in a stormy cloud j 
He came in wrath to cover 

Creation with his shroud : 
No more the wind in wildness 

Blew o'er Hope's gentle rill— < 
The tempest swept in wildness—* 

The frozen stream was still ! 



THE SELF-MURDERER. 

He rests beneath the clay, 
The deed of darkness done ; 

His soul hath pass'd away, 
Its hour of trial gone :— 

His eye is glaz'd and dim ; 
And where his relics lie, 

There flows no requiem- 
There echoes not a sigh. 



114 THE SELF-MUKDEREB. 

He roam'd the weary earth 

In solitude and wo ; 
Yea every spring of mirth 

For him had ceas'd to flow : 
He found no hand to press, 

No heart to prize his own, 
And bore his deep distress 

Unfriended and alone. 

In the fair blush of day, 

And in the still midnight, 
He paced his joyless way, 

A solitary wight : 
In sunshine and in storm, 

His heart was still the same— 
A victim to the worm, 

A shrine of wasting flame ! 

And memory's gloomy pall 

Hung o'er his faded bliss- 
Lost wretch ! he could not call 

One lonely pleasure his— 
Till madness dark and cold 

Came on to close the scene ; 
And aye his anthem roll'd 

O'er joys that once had been. 

Bright was heaven's golden glow, 

The earth in flowers were dress'd, 
As if to mock the wo 

Which brooded in his breast ; 
He gaz'd upon the sky, 

Upon the smiling sun ; 
Red glar'd hl« steel on high — 

He struck— the deed was done ! 



TO THE AUTUMN LEAF. US 

The struggle now is hush'd, 

His fearful writhings o'er ; 
His cheek shall now be flush'd 

With agony no more : 
That frenzied spirit sleeps 

Within a deeper gloom, 
And dark oblivion keeps 

Her vigil o'er his tomb ! 



TO THE AUTUMN LEAF. 

Thou faded leaf ! — it seems to be 

But as of yesterday, 
When thou didst flourish on the tree 

In all the pride of May : 
Then 'twas the merry hour of Spring* 
Of nature's fairest blossoming 

On field, on flower, and spray — 
It promised fair — how ehanged the scene 
To what is now, from what hath been. 

So fares it with life's early Spring- 
Hope gilds each coming day, 
And sweetly doth the syren sing 

Her fond, delusive lay t — 
Then the young, fervent heart beats high- 
Whilst passion kindles in the eye 
With bright, unceasing play — 
Pair are thy tints, thou genial hour, 
Yet transient as the autumn flower. 



J16 TO THE AUTUMN LEAF. 

Thou faded leaf! — how like to thee 

Is beauty in her morning pride, 
"When life is but a summer sea, 

And hope illumes its placid tide- 
Alas ! for beauty's autumn hour, 
Alas ! for beauty's blighted flower, 

When hope and bliss have died !— ■ 
Her pallid brow— her cheek of grief, 
Have thy sad hue,— thou faded leaf! 

Autumnal leaf ! — thus dies the joy 

Which gleams upon love's April day— 
But tyrant time ! canst thou destroy 

That heavenly flame which warms the clay ? 
No ! though each hope may darkly set, 
The heart — the heart can ne'er forget — 

Though anguish hovers o'er the way— 
Though fortune brings her night malign, 
Love, brightens still, on memory's shrine, 

The heart's pure altar — life may frown- 
As life hath frowned on every one ; 
And sorrow's clouds come darkly down 

To gather o'er joy s setting sun : 
But when those c louds descend the thickest, 
And when that sun hath set the quickest, 

Where night-shades over-run, — 
That holy flame glows brightly lone, 
When all life's other lights are gone. 

Autumnal leaf ! — thus honour's plume, 

And valour's laurel wreath, must fade- 
Must lose the freshness and the bloom 
pn which the beam of glory play*d ; — 



TO THE AUTUMN LEAF. 1 17 

The banner waving o'er the crowd, 
Far streaming like a silver cloud, 

Must sink within the shade, 
Where dark oblivion's waters flow 
O'er human weal and human wo. 

Autumnal leaf ! — thus fades the bloom 
Of youth, in hope and spirit proud, 

When destiny's relentless doom 

Comes like the death-bolt from the cloud ;— 

When, not the slow destroyer, Time, 

But anguish scatters o'er its prime 
The blackness of her shroud : — 

Hast thou not seen the youthful face 

W r here grief, not time, hath won the race, 

And mark'd the dim eye's heaviness 

Where once was ardour, pride, and fire— 

The cheek unrob'd in mournfu ness 
Once mantled in hope's gay attire. 

O ! hast thou seen youth fade away 

As autumn's leaf upon the spray ?— 
How soon its hues expire !— 

Yet joy, the meteor, cannot last 

Till even youth's career is past. 

Autumnal leaf! — there is a stern 

And warning tone in thy decay- 
Like thee must man to death return 

With his frail tenement of clay : 
Thy warning is of death and doom, 
Of genius blighted in its bloom, 

Of joy's beclouded ray — 
Life, rapture, hope, ye are as brief 
And fleeting as the autumn leaf! 



GREECE. 

Land of the brave ! where lie inurn'd 

The shrouded forms of mortal clay, 
In whom the fire of valour burn'd 

And blazed upon the battle's fray ;— 
Land where the gallant Spartan few 

Bled at Thermopylae of yore, 
When Death his purple garment threw 

On Helle's consecrated shore ! 

Land of the muse ! within thy bowers 

Her soul entrancing echoes rung, 
While on their course the rapid hours 

Paused at the melody she sung — 
Till every grove and every hill, 

And every stream that flowed along, 
From morn to night repeated still 

The winning harmony of song. 

Land of dead heroes — living slaves- 
Shall glory gild thy clime no more ; 

Her banner float above thy waves 

Where proud iy it hath swept before ?— 

Hath not remembrance then a charm 
To break the fetters and the chain,— 

To bid thy children nerve the arm — 
And strike for freedom once again ? 

No ! coward souls — the light which shone 

On Leuctra's war empurpled day, — 
The light which beamed on Marathon 

Hath lost its splendour — ceased to play : 
And thou art but a shadow now, 

With helmet shattered^spear in rust— 
Thy honour but a dream — and thou 

Despised — degraded— in the dust ! 



GREECE, 1 1 £ 

Where sleeps the spirit that of old 
Dashed down to earth the Persian plume, 
When the loud chant of triumph told 
How fatal was the despot's doom ?— 
The bold three hundred— where are they 
Who died on battle's gory breast? — 
Tyrants have trampled on the clay, 
Where death has hushed them into rest. 

Yet, Ida, yet upon thv bill 
A glory shines of ages fled ; 
And fame her light is pouring still, 
Not on the living — but the dead ! 
But 'tis the dim sepulchral light 
Which sheds a fain* and feeble ray, 
As moon beams on the brow of night, 
When tempests sweep upon their way. 

Greece ! Yet wake thee from thy trance — 
Behold thy banner waves afar— 
Behold the glittering weapons glance 
Along the gleaming front of war ! 
A gallant chief of high emprize 
Is urging foremost in the field, 
Who calls upon thee to arise 
In might — in majesty reveal'd. 

In vain, in vain the hero calls— 
In vain he sounds the trumpet loud— 
His banner totters — see, it falls 
In ruin, freedom's battle shroud : 
Thy children have no soul to dare 
Such deeds as glorified their sires— 
Their valour's but a meteor's glare, 
Which gleams a moment, and expires. 



120 THE DYING SOLDIER. 

Lost land ! where genius made his reign, 

And reared his golden arch on high— 
Where science raised her sacred fane, 

Its summit peering to the sky ; 
Upon thy clime the midnight deep 

Of ignorance hath brooded long, 
And in the tomb, forgotten, sleep 

The sons of science and of song. 

Thy sun hath set — the evening storm 

Hath passed in giant fury by, 
To blast the beauty of thy form, 

And spread its pall upon thy sky : 
Gone is thy glory's diadem, 

And freedom never more shall cease 
To pour her mournful requiem 

O'er blighted, lost, degraded Greece ! 



THE DYING SOLDIER 

THE war had ceased— its iron sound 

No more rung startling on the air— 
The dead lay weltering on the ground, 

And he was left to perish there. 
Hushed *vas the trumpet's stirring tone, 
Whilst feebly rose the hollow moan 

Of agonized despair, 
As pain convulsed each quiv'ring limb, 
When life was waxing faint and dim. 



THE DYING SOLDIER. 121 

O ! think ye not that as he lay 

Upon the field his life-blood wet, 
His fancy wandered far away 

To those the heart can ne'er forget : — 
O ! think ye not he thought of those 
That shared the joys — that shared the woes 

Which on earth's solitude he met — 
And twin'd the ties around his heart 
Which joy nor wo could rend apart ! 

He did — and blame him not that tears 
Burst from him in that painful hour, 

Thinking on all which life endears, 

And checks affliction's baleful power ;«— » 

On early childhood's promised bliss— 

On early love's delightful kiss, 
And beauty's Eden flower — 

On all the lovely scenes which gleam 

Brightly upon HopeVfairy dream. 

Alas ! —his dream passed darkly on, 
Its fairest tints enrobed in night, 

Life's early promise too was gone, 
Tho' brilliant as the morning's light ; 

And there he lay — the lonely one — 

His race of honour quickly run, 
And death before his sight — 

The clay-cold earth his place of rest, 

And he must wither on her breast. 

And if it be, that as he gaz'd 

Upon the blue and starlit sky, 
His nerveless arm was feebly rais'd, 

And fond regret was in his eye — 

F 



122 THE DYING SOLDIER. 

O ! if he longer wished to stray 
Along life's wild and thorny way, 

And thought 'twas hard to die — 
Forgive the wish — for canst thou tell 
The anguish of life's last farewell ! 

Not such his feelings, when the morn 

Broke on the battle's bright array — 
Then— full of hope and martial scorn, — 

He dash'd undaunted in the fray ;— 
And as the drum's awakening roll 
Diffused a rapture thro' his soul, 

He blessed the happy day— 
The wished for day that was to see 
His sword illumed with victory ! 

Deceitful hope ! — behold him now— 
The red drops on his snowy plume, 
The death-damps gathering on his brow, 
Those dark forerunners of the tomb.— 
O ! were his gentle mother there, 
How would her moanings rend the air : 

Yet— glorious is his doom ! 
For him, his country's heart shall bleed— 
Who would not die for such a meed ! 

Weep not for him ! — he perished well, 
Pie died where noble men should die, 

War's thousand voices rung his knell, 
And valour lit his failing eye. 

Sweet is the dying hour to him 

Who, as the light of life grows dim, 
Lies down in victory ! 

How honoured is the warrior's name ! 

How lovely is the wreath of fame ! 



THE REQUIEM. 

" Well hast thou left in life's best bloom 
** The cup of wo for me to drain." — Byron. 

Beneath the burial clay : 
Beneath the cold funereal stone- 
Wrapped in the mantle of decay, 
Thy form of graceful youth is gone ! 
O ! there was sorrow, long and loud, 
When thou was't gathered in the shroud j 
And tears in fast profusion fell, 
When wailing love bade thee farewell ; 
But none whose hearts more deeply bled 
Than his, by whom no tears were shed. 

His grief was echoless — 
It had no sound, or voice, or breath, 
And his lone feeling of distress 
Had all the solitude of death. 
But the sad tear-drops of the soul 
Flowed inwardly without controul ; 
And mournfully his passive eye 
Seemed fixed in wild intensity 
Upon that lonely coffin lid, 
Where all he loved on earth was hid. 

He wept his lot with none — 
Nor told the misery of his fate ; 
The earth for him held only one — 
She died — and he was desolate. 
O ! how he watched her beauty pine, 
And perish in its slow decline, 
When sickness blanched her cheek with can . 
Stealing the rose that flourished there — 



124 THE REQUIEM. 

And how he knelt at love's command 
To kiss that soft and lily hand, 
And gaze upon that failing eye 
Once glowing with love's witchery. 

She was so beautiful — 
Ev en as a seraph to his eyes ; 
The hand of death did never cull 
A sweeter flower for paradise ! 
Yea — partial nature never drew 
A lovelier form or fairer hue — 
A smile of more bewitching grace 
Than that which played upon her face- 
He deemed she was an angel given 
To make for him this earth a heaven. 

Enchanted hours to him ! 
And over-fraught with every bliss — 
Joy sparkled upward to the brim, 
As if to woo his fervent kiss. 
He wreathed his harp with summer flowers, 
And the sweet music of those hours 
Was like the melody of spring, 
When all her birds are on the wing. 

How changed ! that heart is cold— 
Her bosom rests within the earth, 
And memory's dirge hath fondly told 
Of all her sweetness, all her worth. 
Unsparing Death ! — must then the young, 
The innocent in heart and tongue ; 
The loved — the lovely, and the gay, 
Aye be the first to fall thy prey ?— 
Alas— that mild unchiding breast 
Is in the icy grave compressed ; 
And the dull earth-worm riots now 
Upon that smooth and marble brow. 



THE REQUIEM. %2$ 

The flowers of spring shall wave 
Above her solitary bed ; 
The gay green grass shall deck her grave, 
And freshly blossom o'er her head. 
But long unheeded must he sigh, 
When year on year is sweeping by ; 
And spring oft wither and return 
Before his heart shall cease to mourn. 

But love can never die — 
It fastens on the fearful tomb, 
Where all its cherished blossoms lie, 
Divested of their hue and bloom. 
In the deep caverns of the grave, 
liove lingers, though love cannot save ; 
Yes, in the mansions of the dust, 
Affection springs, and ever must. 

Another dawn shall break 
Upon this cloud -enveloped night—- 
That lovely being shall awake 
To bloom in Heaven's bowers of light. 
Though fond affection's hope was vain, 
And tears of sorrow fell like rain 
In that sad hour of mortal pain, 
When death descended, and no prayer 
Could ward the blow from one so fair ; 
Yet in a happier world than this, 
A world of unembittered bliss. 
Where joy hath never said, farewell, 
That pure and stainless heart shall dwell. 



TO ******** 

Thine eye of softened splendour 

Is like the pensive west, 
Whose tints so pure and tender 

The setting sun impress' d i 
Thy cheek, the summer flower, 

In pride of hue and bloom j 
? Tis now thy morning hour, 

Unfaded yet with gloom. 

Hope brightens now before thee* 

As smiles the rainbow fair, 
Which bends its bright arch o'er thee,. 

Circling the summer air : 
O ! may the frosts of sorrow 

Ne'er blight that lily brow — 
But may each coming morrow 

Find thee as blest as now. 

But should thy sky be shaded, 

And swept by misery — 
Should every hope be faded, 

Then, dearest, fly to me ! 
When cold hearts shall leave thee 

In fortune's hour of ill, 
These arms will then receive thee, 

And clasp thee fondly still ! 



THE SPELL. 

There is a spell that binds my heart, 
Within a melancholy mood— 

Nor time can tear its ties apart— 
Nor mirth beguile its solitude ! 

It is the spell of faded hours, 

When young affection's buds were new, 
And hope illum'd the rosy flowers 

With a serene and smiling hue. 

It is the spell of other years — 

Years fresh in love and tenderness ; 

Before the eye was known to tears, 
Or the fond bosom felt distress : — 

When o'er the early march of life, 

Hope's golden banner was unfurl'd-— 

And wav'd unshaken by the strife, 
The wintry tempests of the world ; 

When not a shade of sorrow swept 
Along life's fair unruffled sea, 

And all my soul enraptured slept 
In love's delicious witchery. 

It was — it was, a dream of heaven, 
In all the rainbow's glory drest ! 

And lovely as the gem of even 

Which sparkles on the dark-blue west t 

My blossoms wither on the stem ; 

'Tis vain — 'tis idle to repine — 
To pour the lonely requiem 

O'er that lost paradise of mine. 



228 ' STANZAS* 

But yet this heaviness of grief 

Enwreathes its ivy round my soul— » 

Nor can my spirit find relief 

To break its bands of fierce controul. 

O ! still on memory's mirror crowd 
The phantom forms of grief and pain ; 

My heart is gathered in a shroud, 
And never more shall bloom again ! 



STANZAS. 

&ife hath its sunshine — but the rayy 
Which flashes on its stormy wave, 
Is but the beacon of decay — 
A meteor gleaming o'er the grave ; 
And though its dawning hour is bright 
With fancy's gayest colouring, 
Yet o'er its cloud-en cumbered night 
Dark ruin flaps his raven wing. 

Life hath its flowers — and what are they ? 
The buds of early love and truth, 
Which spring and wither in a day, 
The germs of warm, confiding youth : 
Alas ! those buds decay and die 
Ere ripened and matured in bloom—-* 
Even in an hour, behold them lie 
Upon the still and lonely tomb- 



STANZAS. 12^ 

Lite hath its pang — of deepest thrill—- 
Thy sting, relentless memory ! 
Which wakes not, pierces not, until 
The hour of joy hath ceased to be. 
Then, when the heart is in its pall, 
And cold afflictions gather o'er, 
Thy mournful anthem doth recall 
Bliss which hath died to bloom no more. 

Life hath its blessings — but the storm 
Sweeps like the desert wind in wrath, 
To sear and blight the loveliest form 
Which sports on earth's deceitful path. 
O ! soon the wild heart-broken wail, 
So changed from youth's delightful tone, 
Floats mournfully upon the gale 
When all is desolate and lone. 

Life hath its hope — a matin dream— 
A cankered flower — a setting sun, 
Which casts a transitory gleam 
Upon the even's cloud of dun. 
Pass but an hour, the dream hath fled, 
The flowers on earth forsaken lie— 
The sun hath set, whose lustre shed 
A light upon the shaded sky. 



STANZAS. 

A blight has crossed my early years, 

The lights of life are gone- 
Existence like a waste appears, 
A solitude of care and tears, 
Bleak, desolate and lone ! 
E2 



130 STANZAS. 

The spirit of unchanging grief 

Hath gathered o'er me in a cloud, 
9 Tis lonely as the autumn leaf— 
And seeks no solace, no relief, 
Except the burial shroud. 

In brighter hours my spirit burned 

To wreath the laurel round my brow- 
But now my blossoms are inurned, 
The verdant laurel wreath is spurned, 
Give me the cypress bough ; 

And twine the chaplet for my head, 

Of cypress and funereal yew ; 
Be midnight dews upon it shed, 
Let flowers whose loveliness hath fled, 
There blend in mournful hue. 

Sing not to me the mirthful strain, 

'Tis idle mockery ; 
But let me hear the winds complain, 
When darkness broods upon the main, 

And tempests vex the sea. 

Give me a dwelling in the wild, 

Or on some lonely shore, 
Where treachery hath ne'er beguil'd— 
There let me pass my days, exiled, 

And meet with man no more. 

O ! never more, O ! never more, 

The heart's warm freshness can return, 

And flow in rapture as of yore ; 

Those hours of paradise are o'er, 
Their light hath ceas'd to burn ! 



STANZAS. 151 

And memory like the ivy clings 

Around this aching breast, 
Wearing away life s secret springs — « 
The bird of hope hath spread her wings, 

Deserted is her nest. 



Translated from the <( Basia" of Joannes Secundus* 

Like the red hues — which morning throws^ 
Upon the fresh and dewy rose, 
Like ruby clouds in heaven above— 
Blush the sweet lips of her I love, 
Bedewed by me in hours of bliss 
With many a fond and fervent kiss, 
Which her fair face surrounds with brightness 
That equals winter's snow in whiteness- 
Like as the modest maid doth stand 
Holding the violet in her hand — 
Like the fresh cherry on the tree 
Midst flowers of rich luxuriancy, 
When spring and summer are combin'd 
With all their foliage intertwin'd. 
Alas ! that I from thee must go 
When both our lips together glow- 
Still — still — may thine preserve their hue 
Till night shall bring me to thy view- 
But if, meanwhile, another dare 
To print the kiss of rapture there, 
May they become unto his eye 
Even paler than my cheek in dye. 



TO THE OPENING YEAR. 

Another year — another chequered year, 
With all its change of joy and misery, 
With each delightful smile, — each stealing tear- 
Hath swept along o'er Time's unresting sea : 
In its fleet course what scenes hath destiny 
Brought o'er the path of man's mysterious doom— • 
What flowers of earth in richest luxury 
His hand hath robbed of verdure and of bloom, 
Hath cull'd their blossoms and prepared their tomb. 

I saw youth basking 'neath his calm blue sky 
In all the sweetness of his short delight — 
A lovely phantom danced before his eye 
In the bright sunbeam and bewitched his sight ; 
He thought a form so beautiful and bright 
As heaven's creation could not be untrue- 
Alas ! he knew not Hor j, her smiles of light 
Have all the splendour of the rainbow's hue— 
As fair, as gay, aye, and as transient too. 

Enchanted hour! O nature, breathes there one 
Who hath not felt thy dear, extatic thrill, 
When early youth hath watched the golden sun 
Spring from the east and gild each lofty hill ; 
When all was blithesome, and his heart was still 
With joy that speaks not, so supremely blest — 
The birds sung sweetly — gently flowed the rill 
Through banks in green and floral verdure drest, 
Bright as the glow of his untroubled breast* 

Then, when his heart was pure and sorrowless, 
Did it not claim emotions from on high — 
Was not his soul and voice upraised to bless 
The power that framed that sun and smiling sky,— 
Who bade his thoughts on virtue's aid rely, 



TO THE OPENING YEAR. 135 

And raised his hopes above this sad sojourn, 
(Where sorrow's tears so often dim the eye, 
So oft we pluck the flower and feel the thorn) 
To heaven's promise of a cloudless morn. 

When man first quaffs the cheating cup of life, 
Joy fills the bowl and sparkles to the brim- 
He recks not of the storm with dangers rife, 
And deems the draught will aye be sweet for him ; 
But see, the sparkling beverage grows dim, 
No longer sweet to taste or fair to see— 
O ! list ye then his mournful requiem, 
Poured for the days of joyous ecstacy, 
Sad as the gale's low murmurs o'er the sea. 

No more— no more beats joy within the breast, 
When sin pollutes youth's fresh and crystal spring; 
When like the night-cloud low'ring in the west, 
Fate darkly flies upon the tempest's wing. — 
O ! Time, thine ear hath heard gay childhood sing 
Light as the lark upon the flowery spray ; 
Thou too hast heard the voice of sorrowing 
Resound along thy desolating way, 
When thou hast brought a dark, beclouded day. 

O ! never more, when o'er expiring bliss, 
The aching heart's sad notes of anguish flow, 
Can peace again illume a world like this— 
Mansion of care, and hermitage of woe.— 
Man ! weafry pilgrim ! could thy spirit know 
The pains, the trials which beset thy way, 
Wouldst thou not shrink the task to undergo- 
To watch the change of love's inconstant ray — 
To feel unkindness' pangs as Friendship's lights 
decay. 



134 TO THE OPENING YE AH. 

Alas ! go Man and search the book of Time- 
Behold it dimmed with misery and tears — 
Behold it stained with treachery and crime, 
Through the long mournful agony of years ; 
Behold man's schemes, his wishes and his fears- 
How soon hope's promises of bliss are flown— 
And if a fair unsullied page appears 
In that dread book, a darker page comes on, 
"Whence purity, and innocence, and joy are gone. 

And say what art thou Hope, — a dazzling light—* 
Ideal phantom — wild-fire of the mind — 
A meteor gleaming thro' life's stormy night 
Upon the rapid pinions of the wind — 
And yet without thy ray the eye were blind 
With black despair's impenetrable shade— 
Thy light allures us, though we cannot find 
The blissful haven which thou hast pourtrayed, 
Yet we rely, still trusting, still betrayed. 

The ardent vow in love's sweet accents breathed— 
The fervent kiss affection hath impressed — 
The flowery braid which fancy's hand hath wreath'd, 
Yea, honour's laurel and ambition's crest, 
What are they but illusions of the breast ! 
How they deceive — bewilder — and betray ! 
Leaving the heart deserted and distrest — 
They are the blossoms of a summer day ; 
As fair in bloom, as rapid in decay. 

O Time ! — what fearful wrecks thy hand hath cast 
Upon life's wild and cloud-enveloped deep ! 
Gay o'er its waves Youth's gallant vessel past, 
Whilst yet the giant storm was hushed to sleep — 
He rose in mighty wrath, thou sawest him sweep 



TO THE OPENING YEAR* 13S 

In shadowy grandeur and in rude uproar— 
Thou sawest the breakers rising high and steep, 
That gallant vessel dash against the shore 
Engulfed beneath the foam, to rise no more. 

Thou, Time, beheld'st the Roman eagle soar, 
His mighty wings expanded as the cloud — 
Thou saw' st the aspiring chieftain who of yore 
Came, — saw — and conquered— thou beheld'st the 

crowd 
Of millions marching to the war-field proud, 
Where waved the banners at Thermopylae, 
And gloomy death involved his blood-red shroud 
Round the three hundred men — the brave — the free, 
The Spartan band who fell so gloriously. 

Thou sawest the lofty tower of Babylon 

Rise o'er the earth and cleave the vaulted sky— 

And as the lapse of ages hurried on 

Thou sawest in dust its mould'ring fragments lie — 

Proudly it frowned as if it could defy 

In its vast might the thunderbolts of heaven— 

O pile of vanity ! upreared so high — 

The storm of ages round thy brow hath driven, 

And left thy towers in ruin, crushed and riven. 

Destroyer Time — how swiftly dost thou press 
Man's footsteps onward to his lonely doom- 
Rending apart affection's fond caress, 
Stealing from beauty's cheek her rosy bloom— 
And shrouding man within the noiseless tomb.— 
Ah ! then unheeded shall the buoyant spring 
Send forth her zephyrs breathing with perfume— 
Reflourish in delightful youth, and bring 
Her beautiful wild birds upon the wing. 



13$ fO THE OPENING YEAR* 

Where waves the grass above that silent bourne 

The dew may freshen and the morning beam, 

But he who rests beneath may not return, 

Nor waken from his solitary dream : — 

No — though fair nature's lap may richly teem 

And spread her garniture of roses there — 

O ! never more for him can morning gleam-— 

No more for him the roses scent the air, 

Or nature her attire of beauty wear. 

Once more the year is numbered — come, ye gay, 
Ye light of heart — children of mirth and glee- 
Pause for a while upon your reckless way, 
And mark the changes upon fortune's sea : — -» 
O ! ye who dream in love's soft witchery, 
Twining round beauty's form love's verdant wreath, 
Little ye think that joyless hour to see 
"When, like the hot simoom, misfortune's breath 
Shall blight that wreath, and wither it to death ! 

Come, and behold how youth and beauty fall 
In the brief span of one contracted year — 
How oft the dark and melancholy pall 
Hath been extended o'er the sable bier, 
Bathed with the tribute of affliction's tear : 
How oft the peal of the funereal bell 
Hath struck it's warning on the startled ear- 
When o'er the lovely and the loved, that knell, 
In fitful tones, hath pour'd a last farewell. 

Another year — and yet another year- 
Till the last moment of revolving time, 
To us — to future ages, shall appear 
With every change of every earthly clime— 
Adorn'd by virtue and disgrac'd by crime, 



MAN 137 

With shame dishonour'd and with glory bright, 
Until the dawning of that day sublime, 
When this fair earth shall vanish from the sight, 
Blaze and expire in dark oblivious night ! 



MAN. 

His heartbeat joyously in spring, 

When earth and all its scenes were new ; 
His hopes were out upon the wing, 

And all was rapture to the view. 
There was no cloud that hung on high, 

The bright blue air to shade ; 
And upward as he turned his eye, 

The sun in all his glory played. 

Swiftly on Time's unceasing course 

Elapsed his boyhood's day— 
Unstain'd by anguish or remorse, 

But unprofan'd and gay. 
O ! those were life's enchanted hours, 

When Innocence and Truth 
Sprung round his heart, like Eden-flowers, 

And led him into Youth. 

Youth came — and with it came the pride 

And noble impulse of the breast, 
That each unworthy deed defied, 

And each unworthy thought suppress'd ! 
And in his heart was loftiness — 

The consciousness of worth ; 
How proudly did his footsteps press 

Along the pilgrimage of earth! 



158 MAN. 

Then Pleasure, when his heart was warm, 
Her magic fetters o'er him threw ; 

His arms enclosed her lovely form, 
Nor reck'd he how the moments flew. 

Soon — soon he wakened from his dream- 
He broke her golden chain ; 

Upon his soul Truth pour'd her beam, 
And he was sinless — pure again. 

He loved — and his was such a love, 
It seem'd not of a mortal mind, 

But caught from Heaven's shrine above- 
So fond, so fervent, and refined. 

And as he watched her winning smile, 
That played in pensive loveliness, 

He well believed it could beguile 
Life's deepest— most severe distress. 

He loved— aye, and he was beloved 

With woman's fond sincerity ; 
That heart shrunk not when fortune moved 

Her night clouds o'er his destiny. 
But ruin darkly overspread 

Its ivy on love's wreath of bloom, 
Until its freshness all had fled— 

It seemed a chaplet for the tomb. 

She faded from him like the leaf 

In Autumn's melancholy bower : 
O ! none may know his heart-felt grief, 

The anguish of his lonely hour. 
In silent wo he saw her laid 

Lowly beneath the burial clod— 
And oft at eventide he strayed 

To bathe with tears her grassy sod. 



MAN. 139 

And then he raised his eye aloft 

To Heaven's blue arch serenely fair, 
While deep affection whispered soft 

That worshipped one was blooming there. 
But where were love's delighted hours ? 

In dark oblivion's night ;— 
Where were his early cherished flowers ? 

Swept by untimely blight. 

There came a shadow o'er his soul— 
The past he coldly spurred, 

Shook from his memory's eontroul, 
And to the future turn'd : 

With hope less warm— but not subdued- 
He mixed in life once more ; 

With energy of heart renewed, 
But less confiding than before. 

And now he press'd with heart of flame 

In the wild struggle of mankind — 
To win the evergreens of fame, 

And round his brow the wreath to bind. 
His idol — Honour ; nobly proud, 

Impetuously he bore him on, 
To raise on high above the crowd, 

And wear that idol, honour's crown. 

But wither 'd Hope around him clung, 
Cold as the pall around the bier— . 

And Fortune's clouds above him hung 
Like wintry shadows o'er the year. 

He paused him in the noon of life- 
Reviewed the chequered course he ran— 

The busy scenes of earthly strife 

That form'd the you^h into the man. 



140 MAN. 

And gone was all that lightsomeness 

And buoyancy of thought ;— 
His soul had met with rude distress, 

And borne it as he ought. 
His memory told of hopes deceived— 

Of faded dreams of bliss — 
Of joys he vainly had believed 

Were in a world so drear as this. 

At last his sun began to set — 

Life's evening shadows fell ; 
But Hope was in his bosom yet, 

Nor could she bid farewell. 
But 'twas a holier hope that sprung 

Within this night of gloom ; 
Around the shroud its glory hung— 

Its beam played on the tomb. 

Then calmness and soft peace came o'er 

His long distracted breast— 
And agonizing pain no more 

Its burning seal impress'd. 
And when Life's pulses ceased to play, 

The storms of being past, 
Jle laid him down beneath the clay— 

And peace was his at last. 



THE ALBXOtf.* 

Swift across the Atlantic's breast 

Sped the gallant Albion, 
When the sun set in the west, 

And the blush of day was gone ; 
Proudly o'er the billows blue, 

Spread each wide expanded sail — 
Then all hearts beat high, nor knew 

Death was lurking in the gale ! 

Night her raven mantle threw 

O'er the waters, dark and wild — 
And the tempest-spirit flew 

Where so late the sun had smil'd— - 
In the cloud-envelop'd sky 

Ruin shew'd his. awful form, 
While the seamen's fearful cry, 

Mingled with the raging storm. 

Then fair woman's dying wail 

Echoed on the foaming surge, 
Mingling with the midnight gale, 

By Hibernia's rocky verge — 
Then the chieff who stood the light 

By thy side, Napoleon, 
Trembled as the tempest's might 

Shook the fated Albion. 

* The reader will recollect that the Albion, bound from 
New- York to Liverpool, was lost on the coast of Ireland, on 
the 22d of April, 1822, when nearly the whole of the passen- 
gers and crew were drowned. 

t General Desnouettes. 



142 THE DAWN OF LIBERTY. 

Hark ! that shout of wild dismay- 
That death-groan of agony, 
As the grave receives its prey 

In the deep devouring sea- 
See the mountain billows swell 

O'er the reeling Albion — 
Hark ! that loud and last farewell, 
She is heaving, she is gone ! 



THE DAWN OF LIBERTY. 

[Extract from a Poem, of considerable length, on the Open- 
ing of the Year 1822.] 

Lo ! a morning hath dawned on the midnight which 
slept 

On the land of the Muse — while fair Liberty wept, 

While her tears flowed in anguish, and never could 
cease, 

For the heartless oppression that trampled on 
Greece! 

She wakes — the fierce lioness breaks from her 
chain — 

She wakes unto glory and gladness again ! 

Behold ! o'er her vales and her mountains afar, 

Through the clouds of her shame gleams the light- 
ning of war. 

Shall the Ottoman now with impunity tread, 

As lord o'er that land where Leonidas bled ? 

Shame — shame on thee, Europe — the die hath been 
thrown, 

And the heroes are left to the struggle alone. 



THE DAWN OF LIBERTY. 14£J 

Alas ! for the land of the valiant, where sprung 
The mighty in arm and persuasive in tongue — 
"Where genius was born, and where poesy threw 
A veil of enchantment to brighten the view— 
"Where philosophy opened her magical page, 
The guardian of youth and the solace of age- 
Where the life-breathing canvas delighted the eye 
With the roses of earth and the hues of the sky, 
And the scenes consecrated by passion and love 
Could glow with expression — could smile, and 

could move — 
Where the marble of Paros, all polished in form* 
Seemed to melt and to breathe, with humanity 

warm — 
Where the columns in grace and in grandeur com-r 

bined, 
Seemed the fabrics of heaven, though the work of 

mankind ! 
Where Pallas presided and blessed the domain 
On which piety reared her majestical fane— 
Where the chalice was filled and libations were 

poured 
To that tutelar goddess — that Virgin adored ! 
Alas ! shall the Moslem be suffered to twine 
His fetters accursed round the Parthenon's shrine? 
Dawn forth, other years — and awaken, ye dead, 
From your slumber of ages — arouse ye who bled 
By the Hellespont's flow — upon Ilion's plain— 
And urge the war-coursers to conquest again : 
Long the form of Pelides hath slept in the urn — 
Shall such valour no more to his country return ? 
O ! where is the spirit, O ! where is the spear 
That checked the proud Persian's insulting career, 
That stood against millions unmoved as the rock 
When the waves of old ocean rush on to the shock ? 
That spirit now springs from the depth of the grave, 
And claims for its son Ypsilanti the brave ! 



144 THE DAWN OF LIBERTY* 

Faith ! there rose thine altar — thy temple wa 
there, 
And shone from afar like a beacon in air, 
On that soil where the cross of religion was reared, 
From heaven imparted — by mortals revered — 
Then once more from the sky let the dim crescent 

wane, 
And the cross float in triumph o'er Athos again. 
O ! Greece — be thy mightiness such as of old, 
When the heroes of Sparta and Macedon roll'd 
With high emulation, to mix in the fight, 
Unshackled in arm and impetuous in might ; 
Rem ember the laurels Themistocles won— 
Let Salamis witness the deeds he has done I 
Away with thy fetters, oppression and shame, 
Awake thee to honour — to freedom and fame. 
Then the Muse yet again o'er Olympus shall stray, 
And the summit of Ida re-echo her lay — 
Then Genius anew on thy region shall dawn, 
And the future shall equal the days that are gone ! 

Fair Freedom! thou art man's best benison given, 
The birth right of earth and the blessing of heaven ; 
Let tyranny still wield his blood-spotted sword, 
Let his fury upon thee be ruthlessly poured, 
Yet the hour is fast dawning — the glorious hour— 
When thou shalt awaken resistless in power — 
When thy sons in hot haste to the battle shall speed, 
For thee as their boon, or for death as their meed : 
Then, when thy fair standard is widely unfurl'd, 
And shines like the day-star which beacons the 

world — 
When Battle shall utter his shout of alarm, 
When Carnage shall revel, and Death lift his arm — 
Then shall nation with nation in union combine, 
And press in hot rage to the numberless line, 



THE DAWN OF LIBERTY. 145 

To fight for the cause that is sacred to man, 
And dash in wild uproar, to lead in the van. 
Then the shackles of tyrants in ruin shall fall, 

And the earth he released from inglorious thrall 

Then the voice of mankind shall ascend in acclaim, 
And the watch-word of nations be Washington's 

name. 
Then when thy proud standard expands to the sky, 

And thy sons rally round it to conquer or die 

Then on the high Andes that banner shall wave, 
And golden Peru burst the chains of the slave; 
Break the iron that rives, and the bands that re- 
strain, 
And her Incas preside in their splendour again. 
Then,Helvetia — the thunders of warfare shall swell 
On thy glaciers that witnessed the exploits or Tell ; 
Then on proud Underwalden shall beam such a day 
As shone on Morgarthen and Sempach's affray. 
Then, Sarmatia — thy sun shall break forth from 

the cloud, 
And thy chiefs in high hope to the conflict shall 

crowd, 
Some new Kosciusko thy right shall maintain, 
Some Pulaski lead on thy bold heroes again. 
They shall sweep like the Siroc to waste and destroy, 
And the Vistula roll his free waters in jov ! 
Then, Africa — then shall new liberty reign 
On Joliba's banks and on Nubia's plain : 
Fated Africa — ages have vanished away 

Since thy long line of Ptolemies fell to decay 

Since Amiicar and Annibal slumbered in fame, 
And thy once boasted Carthage is now but a name. 
Thine Egypt — where Arts and where Science first 

* grew— 
Where the pyramids towered aloft on the view— 



146 THE TURKISH CRESCENT. 

Where earth wore creation's most exquisite smile, 
Upon the fair banks of the bountiful Nile — 
Where the hundred-porched Thebes in its loftiness 

shone, 
And power and elegance marked her their own : 
O ! long hath their glory been but as a dream, 
Asa meteor of midnight that dies on the stream— 
And long the descendants of Hanno the brave 
Have bent 'neath the load that o'erburthens the 

slave. 
O Africa ! when the dread mandate of heaven 
Shall proclaim to the world that thy bondage is 

riven, 
When the malison rolls from Eternity's breath, 
And thy battle-song breathes of defiance and death; 
When thy phalanx unshrinking — thy daring array 
Shall rush like the tempests which darkened the 

day — 
Let oppression then tremble — -let tyranny quake, 
For the spirit of deep retribution shall wake — 
Let them shrink when the bolts of thy vengeance 

are hurled, 
To punish a guilty and barbarous world ! 



TO THE TURKISH CRESCENT. 

Proud banner ! in slaughter deep dyed 
The flight of long ages hath found thee, 

Expanding thy folds in presumptuous pride, 
While the -shields of the mighty were round 
thee : 

Thou hast waved 'mid the pomp and the din, 



THE TURKISH CRESCENT. 147 

And the panoplied rush of the fight- 
When the ranks of the valiant grew°broken and 
thin, 
As the Saracen strode in his might— 
But the day of thy doom is recorded on hMi • 
The storm of thy ruin envelopes the sky. ' 

For the voices of thousands unite— 
The spirits of thousands combine 
To dash thee in dust from thy towering 'height, 

And thy glory to darkness'consign. 
There are murmurs prophetic and loud ; 

There are gatherings of nations from far- 
Behold in that wild and tumultuous crowd 

The lion prepared for the war 

Beware the fierce lion-he tosses his mane, 
Impatiently waiting the feast of the slain. 

There's a tramp on the turf, and a sound 

Of headlong and furious speed, 
And the stamp, and the prance, and the paw of 
the ground ; 
'Tis the bounding of Thessaly's steed :— 
And the helmetted rider is there, 

With the blaze of revenge in his glance- 
Far glitters the flash of his sabre in air, 
And the plumes o'er his morrion dance— 
A>ee! he buries the spur in his courser's red flank- 
And breaks the firm front of the Ottoman ranks. 

Who presses amain in hot haste, 
.rp. Tl ! us covered with dust and with foam ?— 
1 is the Suhote chieftain— the lord of the wa*te— 

He comes from the hills of his home ; 
He comes ! in impetuous might- 
He comes ! in victorious joy— 



148 THE TURKISH CRESCENT. 

Like the angel that rides on the tempest of night, 
His arm is out- stretched to destroy ; 
The clangor of steel and the war-shout resound, 
See, see the proud Crescent is hurled to the ground! 

Lo ! the storms in dark violence break 

O'er the Pass where Leonidas died — 
Awake, Spartan spirits — dead heroes, awake, 

On the spot where ye fell in your pride ! 
Hark ! the trumpet is rending the air, 

It sounds o'er the earth and the waves of the 
sea, 
Your sons are embattled, and sternly they swear 
That earth and those waves shall be free ! 
And God hath looked down on that Christian array, 
And halh broken the yoke of the Infidel's sway. 

Now the Red Cross is floating in peace, 

The free Hellespont rolls its glad waves — 
Triumphantly shout the bold heroes of G reece, 

For free are their forefathers graves ; 
Prophetic and true be the strain ! 

Earth ! red be thy breast with the Ottoman's 

gore, 

Till Freedom shall smile on Ionia s main, 

On the fair Cyclades and Pieria's shore — 

Break forth ! thoubright morn, when all nations 

shall see 
The land of the bard and the warrior free. 



%i A MAN OF SORROWS;" 

A man of sorrows and of woe — 

'Twas thus, of old, the prophet sung, 
Who felt the words of heaven flow 

In inspiration from his tongue : 
Weil might the prophet's words be sooth 

To all beneath the golden sun ; 
But be it mine to paint their truth 

In the dark destiny of ONE. 

Kind nature gave him feelings strong, 

Lofty, impetuous and sincere, 
But envy, perfidy and wrong, 

Conspired to lay those feelings sear.*— 
Deceived, deserted, and betrayed, 

By many a shaft of fate pursued, 
The earth to him became a shade, 

A melancholy solitude. 

He knelt at many an idol's shrine, 

But found congenial warmth in none ; 
And every wreath his hope could twine 

Was quickly blighted, and undone ; 
And then he bowed beneath the woe 

That brooded o'er life's little span ; 
He bent him to affliction's blow — 

He bent — but bore it like a man. 

In proud and uncomplaining grief, 

He walk'd upon Ills lonely way ; 
But have ye marked the yellow leaf, 

Consuming on the broken spray ? 
He loved its dying beauty well ; 

To him it had a warning tone, 
And when its bloom to r,uin fell 

It seemed an emblem of his own. 



150 A MAN OF SORHOWS. 

He loved to watch the setting sun 

Go down beneath the crimson west ; 
And wish*d his own career were run, 

That he might also be at rest. 
He thought the sod would lighter press 

Than life's accumulated woe ; 
He thought the wave of cold distress 

Perchance would there forget to flow I 

There was a time — what boots it now 

On spectres of the past to call ? - 
For will it cool his burning brow— 

Or will it gild his spirit's pall ? 
But yet there was a joyous time, 

When youthful hope delighted sung, 
And o'er his bright and golden prime 

The sunny sky of fortune hung. 

His heart was then in freshest play, 

And in its fair unclouded spring ; 
And blithesome was his roundelay, 

Like that of wild birds on the wing : 
Oh, for that soul-enchanting song 

Which charm'd his boyhood's rosy hours, 
When being's current swept along 

A shore of verdure and of flowers. 

When freely flow'd life's fountain wave 

In waters of the purest blue, 
And every scene existence gave 

Was fresh, was beautiful, was new : 
W r hen from the holy fane of thought 

His mind derived supreme delight. 
And ev'ry tint that fancy caught 

Was fair, and glorious, and bright* 



A MAN OF SORROWS. 151 

When all creation's ample space 

Before him spread her bosom fair, 
And gratitude would fondly trace 

A kind Creator's bounty there ; 
When on his grand majestic march 

The sun pursued his glad career, 
And heaven upreared it's smiling arch, 

For day's resplendent charioteer ! 

When midnight spread her milder veil 

Upon the soft and dewy sky, 
And the fair moon was seen to sail 

In pensive loveliness on high ; 
And, followed by the evening star, 

With silver clouds around her curl'd, 
Danced on the mountain height afar, 

A cheering beacon to the world ! 

When on the mighty thunder-storm, 

The bow of promise bent its span, 
Like mercy, bending o'er the form 

Of erring, but repentant, man ; 
And wreathed its belt around the air, 

Where the black tempest hung his shroud, 
Glowing in mingled colours there, 

The Almighty's banner on the cloud ! 

Oh ! when his heart was in its prime, 

These scenes were revelry to him, 
Ere the unsparing hand of time 

Around them hung his mantle dim— 
Ere each emotion felt the chill, 

The blight, the scathe, the withering, 
The deep and agonizing thrill 

Of a cold world's impoisoned sting. 



152 A MAN Ok' SORROWS. 

His earthly idols— where are they ?— 

Aye — let the voice of memory tett ! 
Sprung there one blessing on his way ? 

There the untimely mildew fell ! 
Was there one flower upon his path ?— 

There the hot blast of ruin blew, 
In all its desolating wrath, 

To sear and scorch its lustrous hue I 

Behold him now ! — the silvery frost 

Not yet hath fallen on his head- 
Yet is his -every solace lost— 

His every hope of pleasure dead ! 
And years of pain away must roll, 

E're his brow wear the almond tree ; 
Yet wintry age hath chilled his soul 

To iciness — and where is he? 

Behold him mid the giddy throng 

Who dance the days of life away, 
In joy, in revelry and song, 

Seeming the gayest of the gay ! 
Behold him in the courtly hall, 

Where pleasure leads her frolic train, 
The blithest at the festival, 

Where folly holds her orgies vain ! 

Behold him in his midnight hour, 

When lighter hearts are lost in sleep, 
And mark his struggles with the power 

Of anguish too severe to weep ! 
Nor be that proud deceit, a blame 

Which o'er his agony he flings— 
Th' expiring eagle doth the same, 

And hides his death-wound with his wings. 



SQ AN ACCOMPLISHED COQUETTK. 155 

But yet awhile — oh, yet awhile, 

Victim of sorrow ! thou must bear-— 
Thy heart must still assume the smile, 

To hide the barbed arrows there : — 
Soon may the cold turf be thy bed — 

Soon may the green grass o'er thee wave-— 
Soon may the orb thou lovest, shed 

His parting light upon thy grave ! 



TO AN ACCOMPLISHED COQUETTE. 

'* Woman's tears produced at will, 
Deceive in life, unman in death." — Byron. 

I deemed thee all thou seemed'st to be, 

Ingenuous, artless, and sincere, 
And gave a trusting heart to thee, 

Which would have held thee ever dear : 
But I have found thy hollowness 

With deep and unalloyed regret* 
And having proved thee valueless 

I now lament that e'er we met.— 
For thou hast been a baleful star 

Upon my being's destiny, 
And thou hast striven too well, to mar 

My bosom's sole felicity ; 
To desolate and to beguile 

A soul that worshipped thee too well, 
A soul on which thy faithless smile 

Like light from God's own altar fell. — 
But when I saw that smile could fall 
With equal warmth on one ar J all, 
G 2 



154 TO AN ACCOMPLISHED COQUETTE. 

And found the sweetness of thy lip 
A common flower which all might sip,. 
Say, could I trust that spirit free 
Which every fool could share with me ? 

Ungrateful girl— I will not chide 

Nor vex thee with an angry brow, 
For I have fondly deified 

Thy soul, and cannot hate thee now :«— 
But yet — be sure — my blighted hours, 

My feelings wrung, my spirit's fall, 
My mind's decay, my wasted powers, 

Shall loudly on thy conscience call. 
When beauty's transient sway is o'er, 

And flattering fools, who now surround thee, 
Shall leave thee to return no more, 

As cold and heartless as they found thee ; 
Then — ingrate, when thou art in pain 

And sorrow as the man thou'st wronged, 
Remembrance shall bring back again 

The heart that once to thee belonged :— 
And all its warm devotedness, 
And all its ardent zeal to bless, 
Unto thy memory shall return ; 
And thou at length shall wake to mourn, 
For many a solitary day, 
The heart which thou has thrown away. 



FREEDOM. 

When the world in throngs shall press 
To the battle's glorious van, 

When the oppresed shall seek redress, 
And shall claim the rights of man ; 
Then shall Freedom smile again 

On the earth and on the main. 

When the tide of war shall roll 

Like imperious ocean's surge, 
From the tropic to the pole, 
And to earth's remotest verge ; 
Then shall valour dash the gem 
From each tyrant's diadem. 

When the banner is unfurled, 

Like a silver cloud in air, 
And the champions of the world 
In their might assemble there ; 
Man shall rend his iron chain, 
And redeem his rights again. 

Then the thunderbolts shall fall 
In their fury on each throne, 
Where the despot holds in thrall 
Spirits nobler than his own ; 
And the cry of all shall be, 
Battle's shroud or liberty ! 

Then the trump shall echo loud 

Stirring nations from afar, 
In the daring line to crowd, 
And to wear the blade of war ; 
While the tide of life shall rain, 
And encrimson every plain. 



156 TREL&OM* 

Then the Saracen shall flee 

From the city of the Lord— . 
Then the light of victory 
Shall illume Judea's sword ; 
And new liherty shall shine, 
On the plains of Palestine. 

Then the Turk shall madly view, 

How his Crescent waxes dim, 

Like the waning moon whose hue 

Fades away on ocean's brim ; 

Then the cross of Christ shall stand 

On that consecrated land. 

Yea — the light of freedom smiles- 
On the Grecian phalanx now» 
Breaks upon Ionia's isles, 
And on Ida's lofty brow ; 
And the shouts of battle swell, 
Where the Spartan lion fell I 

Where the Spartan lion fell : — 

Proud and dauntless in the strife- 
How triumphant was his knell ! 
How sublime his close of life ! 
Glory shone upon his eye, 
Glory which can never die ! 

Soon shall earth awake in might, 

Retribution shall arise, 
And all regions shall unite 
To obtain the glorious prize ; 
And oppression's iron crown 
To the dust be trodden down. 



STANZAS. 157 

When the Almighty shall deform 

Heaven in his hour of wrath, 
When the angel of the storm 
Sweeps in fury on his path ; 
Then shall tyranny be hurled 
From the bosom of the world. 

\ 
Yet — O ! freedom — yet awhile, 

All mankind shall own thy sway, 
And the eye of God shall smile 
On thy brightly dawning day ; 
And all nations shall adore 
At thine altar evermore. 



STANZAS. 

I saw her in life's morning bloom, 

In youth and beauty brightly gay, 
And little thought the savage tomb 

So soon would steal her charms away ; 
1 saw her when her eye was bright 

As the blue vestment of the sky, 
And little thought the fearful night 

Of the death angel was so nigh. 
And it was mine to see her fade, 

To see her wither day by day, 
And it was mine to see her laid 

Beneath the cold repulsive clay ; 
And then the sad funereal bell 

Bore the death-music to my ear— 
'Twas hope's and love's expiring knell, 

Yet I was left to linger here. 



158 STANZAS. 

She moved along in loveliness 

As woman moved at Eden's birth, 
And seemed an angel sent to bless 

The weary wilderness of earth. — 
Too soon the earth received her form, 

Nor worth, nor innocence could save 
Her bosom from the earthly worm, 

Her beauteous blossoms from the grave ! 

And many sorrowed o'er her lot, 

And many wept beside her bier— 
By heaven ! too soon she was forgot — 

And time full early closed the tear.— 
Yes — ere the grass began to spread 

Its verdure o'er her fresh and green, 
Her memory from their hearts had fled, 

As if that memory ne'er had been : 
But on my heart the seal is set — 

That image dwells forevermore, 
To keep alive its fond regret, 

'Till life's last agony be o'er. 



" A word— that must be and hath been."— Byron. 

There is a word that rends the heart, 

"Which all have said and all must say, 
"Which breaks the bands of love apart, 

And drives the dream of bliss away : 
And e'en when youth delighted springs 
Fresh into life and gaily sings, 

Light as the wood-lark on the spray, 
That dreaded word may then be said 
Sad as the anthem o'er the dead. 



159 



A word — that makes us sadly own 
That all our dearest joys are vain, 

Which bids us trace our steps alone 
Along the flinty path of pain ; 

Which uttered by the parting breath 

When the soul feels the chill of death, 
And life is fast upon the wane, 

Commands the tears of love to flow 

For all it cherished here below. 

A word — which breaks the fond caress 
Of youthful hearts in happy hours, 

Which makes the world a wilderness, 
Devoid of verdure, sun, and flowers ; 

The faded leaves bestrew the ground— 

The fatal ivy wreathing round 
O'ershades the broken bowers, 

Where once the rose and lily grew 

And sparkled in the matin dew. 

A word — that severs every tie 

Which hope believes will last for aye, 

Which dims the light of beauty's eye 
And chases all her smiles away— 

That sheds affliction o'er her brow, 

And wrings with pain her breast of snow— 
What is this word which all must say ? 

Youth, manhood, age ! ye all can tell ! 

It is that fatal word, Farewell / 



THE MIND'S MIDNIGHT. 

There is a season of distress 

When life hath lost it's every charm, 
When fortune's smiles no longer bless 

Nor even danger's frowns alarm ; 
*Tis when o'er hope's expiring thrill 

The heart pours forth it's requiem, 
When young affection's voice is still, 

And bliss hath died upon the stem. 

Woe for that midnight of the mind ! 

W T oe for it's silent loneliness ! 
Then the sad cypress wreath is twined, 

And life is bleak and pleasureless. — 
How changed from that enchanted hour 

When love was new, when heaven smiled, 
And joy put forth her lily flower 

To blossom on life's desert wild. 

Lost love and hope — your hues, are bright 

As the fair blush of early spring — 
Away, away — your joys are light, 

But ever, ever on the wing. 
O ! love is but a meteor beam 

Which dances on time's stormy wave — 
And hope is but the firefly gleam 

Which lures us onward to the grave. 



WHEN this feverish being shall slumber in rest 
A prey to the worm — wilt thou think of me then ? 
"Will my memory be shrined in thy innocent breast 
When life cannot glow in this bosom again? 



STANZAS. 161 

When that sorrowful moment shall come, as it 

must— 
And the death-cloud shall darkly envelope my 

brow — 
When this heart with it's frailties shall sleep in 

the dust, 
Tho' it beat with affection and love for thee now. 

Is there not in yon heaven a happier clime 
Where the bliss that hath withered shall blossom 

anew, 
Where our love shall reflourish, unwasted by time, 
With more exquisite sweetness, more beautiful hue? 

There is — 'tis a clime which our spirits shall find 
Divested of woes that have clouded tbem here — 
Where our hopes shall be freshened, our hearts re- 
entwined, 
And the carol of joy shall enrapture the ear. 

With thee was each innocent wish of my youth, 
Ere grief gathered round which I could not foresee, 
Each noble emotion of honor and truth 
Was kindled and warmed into being by thee ! 

Thou taughtest me to turn from the treacherous way 
Where my footsteps in darkness and folly had 

strayed ; 
Thy love was the light which illumined my day, 
Which led me where virtue in brilliancy played. 

Then tho' fate hath wrapped round me her darkest 

attire, 
Tho' my hope hath been wrecked on adversity's sea; 
One solace is left me which cannot expire, 
The flowers in yon heaven are blooming fur thee ! 



162 TO CORA. 

Yes — that love -moulded -form may go down to the 

dust, 
And the green turf and earth-clod above thee may 

lie, 
Yet firm is my hope, and unshaken my trust, 
That thy soul shall find refuge and bliss in the sky. 

And when o'er my horizon, death's shadow shall 

move, 
When life like a dream of the morn shall have 

flown— 
May my heart, all its errors forgiven, but prove 
As unsullied, as stainless, as pure as thy own. 



TO CORA. 
" Animus, quod perdidit, o\>tat."~Petronius Arb. 

Charm of my life, too early flown. 

Too early lost— yet ever dear 
And ever loved, why hast thou gone 

And left my soul forsaken here, 
To muse on joys that faded fast 

As meteor lights upon the sea, 
Before my days were overcast, 

And hope was lost, in losing thee ! 

Not yet forgot ! not yet forgot ! 

The memory of thine angel smile 
Beams o'er the darkness of my lot, 

And lights its loneliness awhile ; 
And when this eye that cannot weep 

Is closed in slumbering at even* 
Thou comest to my view in sleep 

Like some enchanted dream from heaven. 



TO CORA. 165 

Not yet forgot — altho' the tie 

Which wreathed our hearts is rent in twain, 
Thine image still doth linger nigh 

To soothe the agony of pain ; 
And tho' the storms in blackness crowd 

Above my head, foreboding ill, 
Thou art the rainbow on the clouds 

The gem to gild it's darkness still ! 

And time his gloomy veil hath spread 
To frown between us coldly now, 

And midnight gathers o'er my head- 
But Cora ! Cora ! where art thou ? 

Still springs this desolated breast 
To bless the one it cannot see, 

And tho' by many a grief oppressed, 

Still mounts its prayer to heaven for thee. 

For thee, for thee, this lonely heart 

Could every pang of fate endure, 
Content my blessings should depart 

Thy bliss, thy safety to secure. 
So dearly doth my spirit prize 

Thy soul of spotless purity, 
I would not ask for paradise 

Unless it's joys were shared with thee ! 

Loved — lost, forever — still shall earth 

Her varied garb of seasons wear, 
But spring to me can give no mirth, 

Nor summer's music lull my care.— 
Yea — lost forever ! still the tide 

Shall heave upon the gloomy main, 
Which rolls between us far and wide, 

And tells, we ne'er shall meet again. 



164 SKETCHES. 

Yet whatso'er my fate may be, 

However dark the hue it wear,— . 
One lesson thou hast taught to me, 

When sorrow loads the heart— to bear.— 
E'en from that heart so gently strung 

It seemed that pain its chords would sever, 
My own hath learned when fiercely wrung, 

To bear, tho' joy be hushed for ever ! 



SKETCH, No. I. 

His face had lost the bloom 
Of reckless childhood — and his eye it's brightness. 
There was an earnest fixedness of gaze, 
Denoting that the heart beneath had lost 
It's buoyancy, and it's fantastic dreams 
Had given place to pensive thoughtfulness. 
The sprightly gait, the laughing lip, were changed 
To calm and sober seriousness of mien. 
Clouds hung above his youth — forsaken hope, 
Bereaved affection — and the broken chain 
Of ardent feeling — and the blighted bud 
Of young enjoyment, like the sombre pall 
Hung o'er his heart, and all beneath was dark- 
Dark as the deep and midnight loneliness 
Which reigns within the vaulted sepulchre ! 
And now no more his fancy revelled on 
The morning cloud, that spreads it's golden fringe 
Along the east and brightens in the sun ; — 
Nor on the virgin blushes of the rose 
Opening her bosom to the summer gale: *— 
Nor on the varied colours of the bow 
Which bends it's blue and crimson arch in heaven. 



SKETCHES. v 1 65 

No ! but when tempest9 vexed the brow of night, 
And the dark angel of the gloom went forth 
Upon his wild and desolating march, 
Then glowed his spirit with strange extacy, 
And held high converse with the elements. 

And often would he cull the cypress crown 
With the sad leaves of the sepulchral yew, 
And round his temples bind the joyless wreath — > 
How different from the gay and floral crown 
Which bloomed upon his brow in earlier days ! 
There was an air of stern and proud endurance, 
As if his spirit, tho' it ceased to strive 
With iron destiny, had learned to bear ; 
As if it scorned to raise the sad lament 
And broken hearted wail o'er it's misfortunes, 
And spurned the false and hollow sympathy 
Of human kind — but chose the nobler part, 
To wrestle with it's agony in silence. 



SKETCH, No. II. 

The scene was changed— 
A lily sprung upon the desert rock, 
A blossom flourished on the blasted tree : 
His natal star once more in golden light 
Pursued its march and beaconed him to joy. 
One lonely, lovely being prized his worth, 
And won his spirit from its solitude ; 
Earth wore the hues of heaven — how beautiful ! 
How fair she was ! even as the dark -eyed daughteis 
Of Allah's visionary paradise. 



166 SKETCHES. 

Upon her cheek so pure and delicate 

The lily struggled with the crimson rose :— 

And all the magic, ail the witchery 

That ever lover dreamed or poet sung, 

Glowed in the lightnings of her dark-blue eye. 

Oh ! she was beautiful ! her raven hair 

Hung in profusion round her neck of snow— 

And oft in maiden glee and sportiveness 

Her gentle hand would catch the roving curls, 

And bind them in a braid around her brow. 

Oh ! she was beautiful ! her graceful form 

Moved upon earth so lightly and so free — 

She seemed a seraph wanderer of the sky, 

Too bright, too pure, too glorious for earth ! 

He loved, nay more, he madly idolized, 

And kneeling in devotion at her shrine 

Breathed unto her prayers that were due to heaven. 

His spirit sprung to hers — all other thoughts, 

All other feelings vanished from his mind, 

And one intense, devoted, deathless ardour, 

One passion, joyous even to agony, 

Glowed in his throbbing heart — and this was love ! 

Yes, it was Love ! let the cold-hearted smile — 

And let the senseless, the unfeeling fool, 

Whose dull lethargic spirit never soared 

Eeyond its vile and perishable clay, 

Who steals thro' life unblessing and unblest, 

Let him deride those throbs he cannot feel, — 

But angels bless and heaven inspires such love ! 

Oh ! the heart's deep and fond idolatry ! 

Source of delight and of severest woe ! 

There hangs a morning wreath on Beauty's shrine 

When life is in its spring, and time as yet 

Nor blights the bud — nor steals the floret's hue : 

Look once again — the mildew of decay 

And sorrow's canker have been working; there ! 



SKETCH, No. III. 

I said he loved— the stream of being flowed, 
And sunbeams danced upon its placid wave : 

His sorrows had passed on, nor left a scar 

Affliction's sullen impress was effaced, 

And all was brilliancy — the sun went forth 

Upon a sky of clear and smiling blue — 

All nature blossomed round him— earth contained 

One gem of Eden, and that gem was his. 

Where now were all the trials, all the woes, 

The secret anguish of his troubled youth ? 

The Lethe of the mind had gathered o'er them, 

And memory was lost in present bliss. 

The matin clouds were gone, and the sweet song 

Of hope gave promise of a sunny noon. 

Oh ! strange mysterious power of Destiny ! 

Even then the storm was gathering afar 

In his horizon — soon it swept amain 

With desolation on its midnight wing ! 

Yea— even then, when life was extacy 

Fate poured the vial of its fiercest wrath 

The bridal garb was ready— hearts beat high 

When— sudden as the tiger from his lair 
Death sprung upon his victim, and the crown 

Which love entwined, reposed upon the grave 

Around the maid was wreathed the cold cymar — 
Lost in her prime— and in the full fresh play 
Of young, unchangeable and warm affection ! 

And now the bier was placed within the aisle, 
The burial rites were said, the anthems sung 
O'er shrouded innocence and loveliness : 
Earth claimed the clay, and heaven the spotless 

spirit— 
The voice of wail arose— but where was he?— 



168 VERSES. 

And where was he ? — clad in the sable weed* 

Of outward sorrow, to attract the cold 

And heartless pity of a callous world, 

Say, did he mingle with the weeping throng ? 

No, but his heart was robed in mourning, and 

He kept aloof in broken-hearted pride ! 

But ere the coffin had enclosed her form, 

He stole in breathless silence to the spot 

Where lay the early victim— fearfully 

He raised the veil from that still lovely face 

Which death had altered not — and there he stood 

In calm, serene, and voiceless agony, 

Gazing upon his bride—one farewell glance 

He gave, and then impressed one long, last kiss 

Upon her colourless and lifeless lip, 

Then rushed away, away, forevermore ! 

The morrow came — the requiem bell was tolled, 

The clod struck hollow on the coffin lid— 

The mourners stood around— but he was gone ! 



VERSES, 
Written after viewing the Corpse of a Young Lady. 

In the pride and glory of youthful spring 

Thy lamp of life hath perished, 
Decay hath waved his raven wing 

O'er the rose which beauty cherished :-— 
How gay thou sported life along 

In maiden bloom, and joy, and song — 
How soon o'er thy pathway Death hath driven, 

And borne thee away in his arms to heaven. 



VERSES. | 69 

No more shall thy footsteps lightly tread 
On the hill when morning blushes. 

Nor thy voice it's winning music shed 
Where the clear blue fountain gushes— 

The stream shall roll in gladness on 

Tho' the flower that graced its banks is gone— . 

And the dawn shall blush, but never shine 

Again on a fairer form than thine. 

No more, when the summer moon beams full 

And the summer stars are shining, 
Shall thy gentle hand the lily cull, 

It's wreath with thy tresses twining 

No more shalt thou cull the violet blue 
When it's leaves are wet with evening dew i 
Now thine is the cold and icy pall, 
Instead of love's gay coronal. 

Where now is the light of that speaking eye? 

in oblivion darkly clouded 

Where is that cheek of purest dye ? 

In the winding sheet enshrouded : — 
The germ which late in beauty spruno- 
O'er which affection fondly hung • & ' 
Oh where have it's grace and beauty fled » 
I he stem is broken— the germ is dead ' 

I saw thy mother bend o'er thy bier 
While her eye glanced up to heaven, 

I heard no sob— I saw no tear 

Bedew the shroud of her daughter dear, 
But— her inmost heart was riven ' 

Yea— her's was that still agony 

Which works unseen and silently, 

Which flows in anguish deep and chill, 

i-ike the stream beneath an ice-crowned rill. 
H 



170 VERSES* 

Better it were that she should wail, 

That her grief aloud were spoken — 
This noiseless sorrow tells the tale 

That the strings of the heart are broken : 
Better it were that tears should start 
From the full eye, than bathe the heart ; 
For the gathered tears that are not shed 
Are tokens true that hope is dead ! 

The branch hath died and the tree remains, 

The stem survives it's flower — 
Thus every blossom this earth contains 

Must meet with the blighting hour : 
Thy morning sky hath an early cloud— 
Thy beauty is wreathed in an early shroud— 
The light and love of thy days are o'er, 
But grief shall veil thy brow no more. 

Farewell ! thou hast fled in thy primal hour, 

In thy sweetness of youthful blossom, 
Ere sin could sully thy maiden flower, 

Or pollute thy guileless bosom : 
And freshly the myrtle boughs shall wave 
Above thy form and around thy grave, 
And the willow branches bend in air, 
For affection's hand shall plant them there. 

Farewell ! no longer to gem thy way 
Shall the light of love be glowing, 
As late it glowed like the star of day, 
When the fount of life was flowing ! 
The noontide splendor, the starlit scene, 
The summer buds, and the autumn's sheen, 
Shall still pass on and still return, 
But wake not thee from thy tranquil urn. 



THE EAGLE. 1 7 I 

But when the zephyrs of eve shall kiss 

The fleecy clouds of heaven — 
When the stars shall gleam in the vault of bliss 

O'er the deep blue arch of even ; 
Then fancy shall soar on the wings of love, 
And picture thee in the realms above, 
A spirit of that immortal shore 
Where pain can wring thee never more ! 



THE EAGLE. _ 

Marked ye the eagle risingiiigh, 

His wings expanded in the sky ? 

Behold ! he soars with lofty mind, 

He leaves the winds of heaven behind, 

And rising upwards, nobly proud, 

He makes his home within the cloud : — 

Behold his strong and stately form 

Contending sternly with the storm, 

With plume unscorched — with unscathed limb- 

The lightning flies but blasts not him. 

Thus Genius, can thy soul sublime 

Resist the stormy night of Time — 

Break through the clouds that veil thy s»ky, 

And triumph o'er ac I?t rsity :— — 

Thy beacon, which gives light afar, 

Is glory's bright and matin star — 

Thy track is virtue's, and thine aim 

For honor and undying fame. 

Yes — when thy prison-house of clay 

Is mouldering in the grave's decay, 

Thy monument extends on high, 

Which Tim* doth harmlessly pass by— 



172 THE BROKEN HEART. 

Nor from the golden arch of Fame 
Doth he erase thy hallowed name. 
Thy spirit with its wing unfurled 
Spreads it's broad shadow o'er the world, 
And fetterless it soars on high 
To seek a home within the sky, 
In the blue fields of yonder heaven, 
The fount from which thy fires are given ! 



THE BROKEN HEART. 

" The proud, who suffer pain, 

Their agony will never show."— Byron. 

THERE is a grief that doth not wring 

The bosom with a single sigh, 
That doth not shade the brow, nor bring 

The moisture from the heavy eye; 
But lives where men cannot intrude, 

Of human things, a thing apart, 
In the deep bosom's solitude, 

And there it feasts upon the heart. 

It is a quiet reveller, 

As is the noiseless coffin -worm, 
That lone and sullen banqueter 

That battens on the human form — 
No wassail shout, no song of glee 

Is heard within that narrow dome, 
No echoes tell the revelry 

That cheers the earth-worm in his home* 



THE LAST SONG. / 175 

Such is that sorrows's festival, 

But ah ! it hath a higher prey, 
A loftier victim in its thrall, 

A nobler mansion than the clay — 
That wasting sorrow doth inherit 

A palace framed with wondrous art, 
That palace is the human spirit — 

That victim is the broken Iieart. 



M THE LAST SONG." 

STRIKE the wild harp yet once again ! 

Again its lonely numbers pour, 
Then let the melancholy strain 

Be hushed in death for evermore ! 
For evermore — for evermore 

Creative fancy, be thou still, 
And let oblivious Lethe pour 

Upon my lyre its waters chilL 

Strike the wild harp yet once again \ 

Then be its fitful chords unstrung- 
Silent, as is the grave's domain — 

And mute, as the death-mouldered tongue I 
Let not a thought of memory dwell 

One moment on its former song- 
Forgotten too be this farewell 

Which plays its pensive strings along ! 



174 „ THE LAST SONG. 

Strike the wild harp yet once again I 

The saddest and the latest lay- 
Then break at once its strings in twain, 

And they shall sound no more for aye : 
And hang it on the cypress tree — 

The hours of youth and song have passed, 
Have gone, with all their witchery — 

Lost lyre ! these numbers are thy last. 



$orms* 



BY JAMES G. PERCIVAL, ESQ. 



^o*mg* 



THE WRECK, 
A Tale. 

'Twas a calm summer evening — on the sea 
Spread out a perfect mirror, there was seen, 
In the blue hazy distance, one white sail, 
That caught the eye of hope and love. She came, 
When her light task was ended, to the brow 
Of a commanding precipice, that hung 
Its dark wall o'er the waters. By the staff, 
On which a flag was hoisted, she sat down 
In the red sun-light, which, to all below, 
Gave a deep tincture to the towering cliff, . 
And the loose folds, that tremulously waved 
In the scarce-breathing sea-wind, and the snow 
Of her own tender paleness. She had caught 
The sail from the lone cottage of her sire ; 
For she was motherless, and had not known 
The name of sister ; but her heart was bound 
In the affection of a father's heart, 
And in the love of one who was not there, 
But far upon the ocean. She had been 
Nursed tenderly and fondly ; for the hand 
That reared her in that solitude was full, 
And might have lived in cities, and have been 
Courted by the vain crowd, but that he chose 
The silence of a distant, wild retreat, 
Which left him to the company of books, 
And the dear culture of the infant mind, 
To which his heart was knit by all the links 
That bind us to the cherished and the young, 
H 2 



i{8 THE WRECK, 

The gentle and the lovely. He had fled 
From a harsh world ; and on the ocean's brink, 
And in the bosom of romantic hills, 
And by the channel of a broken stream, 
Had sought communion with the beautiful 
And the sublime of Nature ; but he still 
Nourished the kindest feelings ; and in one 
Who had from him her life, and was the life 
Of his decaying years, he treasured up 
All he had ever known of early love 
And youth's devoted passion. She had grown, 
In her unstained seclusion, bright and pure 
As a first opened rose-bud, when it spreads 
Its pink leaves to the sweetest dawn of May, 
After a night-shower, which had wet the woods 
And gardens with the big round drops that hang 
Dancing in the fresh breeze, and tremblingly 
Specking the flowers with light. She too had been 
Not only shielded from all tint and stain 
Of the world's evil, that the first clear stream 
Of feeling in her heart still flowed as pure 
As when it first ran onward, like a spring 
That ever comes from the deep-caverned rock 
Flowing in virgin crystal — but her mind, 
Wrought to habitual greatness, was endued 
With the true sense of glory. She was taught 
That happiness was in the tender heart 
And the waked soul ; that the full treasure spread 
In beauty o'er the ocean and the earth, 
With change of season, and its ever new 
And grand or lovely aspect, was enough 
To, move the heart to rapture, and supply 
The food of thought, the never-failing spring 
Of sweet sensations and un wasting joys. 
Hut nature still was in her, and she soon 
iVIt, that the fond affection of her sire, 



THE WRECK. 179 

And her loved tasks— the study of high thoughts, 

Poured out iu sainted volumes, which had been 

Stamped in the mint of Genius, and had come 

Unhurt through darkest ages, bright as gems 

That sparkle, though in dust— the skilful touch 

Of instruments of music, and the voice 

Sweet in its untaught melody, as birds 

Clear-warbling in the bushes, but attuned 

To the just flow of harmony — the hand 

That woke the forms of penciled life, and gave 

Its colour to the violet, and its fire 

To the dark eye, its blushes to the cheek, 

And to the lip its sweetness ; or that drew 

O'er the pure lawn the silken thread, and wove 

The full-leafed vine, and the luxuriant rose, 

All petals and vermilion — or the walk 

On the rude shore, to hear the rushing waves, 

Or view the wide sea sleeping — on the hill 

To catch the living landscape, and combine 

The miracles of nature in one full 

And deep enchantment — or to trace the brook 

Up to its highest fountain in the shade 

Of a thick tuft of alders, and go down 

By all its leaps and windings, gathering there 

The forest roses, and the nameless flowers, 

That open in the wilderness, and live 

Awhile in sweetest loveliness, and die 

Without an eye to watch them, or a heart 

To gladden in their beauty — or in that, 

The fondest to the pure and delicate, 

The gentle deed of charity, the gift 

That cheers the widow, or dries up the flow 

Of a lone orphan's bitterness, the voice, 

The melting voice of sympathy, which heals, 

With a far softer touch, the wounded heart, 

Than the cold alms dropped by a scornful hand,- 



180 THE WRECK. 

That flings the dole it grudges — such but tears 
Anew the closed wound open ; while the friend, 
Who smiles when smoothing down the lonely 

couch, 
And does kind deeds, which any one can do, 
Who has a feeling spirit, such a friend 
Heals with a searching balsam : — though her days 
Passed on in such sweet labours, still she felt 
Alone, and there was in her virgin heart 
A void that all her pleasures could not fill. 
She was not made to waste her years alone, 
But the great voice of Nature spake to her, 
That loving, and beloved by one like her, 
Youthful and beautiful, her heart would find 
In the fond interchange of looks and thoughts, 
And in the deep anxiety of love, 
The measure of her joyous spirit full. 

And such an one she found. One Sabbath eve 
She sat within an ivied church hard by, 
Beside her honoured father, when the choir 
Sang their last chant, and the deep organ-peal 
Was dying through the twilight vault away ; 
When the set sun had thrown upon the broad 
And chequered window, one full saffron blaze, 
So that the pillars glittered, and the gold 
And crimson of the pulpit tapestry 
Shone like the clouds that curtained o'er the west, 
And seemed to glow, as they were folds of tire 
Hung round the dark blue mountains; when the 

light 
Fell through the aisles, and glanced along the seats 
So clear, the eye was dazzled, and all forms 
Were half intensely bright, and half deep shade- 
Then, as the magic sunset, and the place 
Hallowed to her pure spirit, and the sounds 
Of closing melody, and the calm words, 



THE WRECK. 181 

That asked a blessing on the silent crowd, 
Who listened to the prayer with breathless awe- 
As these came o'er her feelings with a charm 
Of most delicious sweetness, when her soul 
Caught part of the new energy abroad 
In that deep-hallowed mansion, and was far 
Ascending to the glory which pervades 
The one Eternal Temple— then her eye, 
Living with her rapt spirit, chanced to fall 
On the bright features of a noble youth, 
Whose eye fell full on hers. As if a sense 
Of kindred being had at once possessed 
Their spirits, and a sacred fire informed 
Their souls with one new life, they looked and loved. 
It was the birth of passion— there went forth 
From each an influence, that as a chain 
Linked their young hearts together. They would 

turn 
Aside their eyes, but in an instant back 
They glanced and met ; and as they met, they fell 
In deep confusion downward. Then their hearts 
Beat throbbingly ; a blush rose on their cheeks, 
Flushing and fading like the changeful play 
Of colours on a dolphin. Thus they looked 
Few minutes, and then parted ; but as back 
They sauntered to their several homes, they turned 
Momently to behold the lovely thing, 
Which, once beloved, grew dearer every time 
Their fond eyes met ; and when they heard a sound 
From lips that long had trembled — when the touch 
Thrilled them, and tender words were given in fear, 
So that the low voice quivered, and the words 
Died half unfinished — it was then beheld 
As something more than mortal. 

Love went on, 
Day after day expanding, like the flower 



182 THE WRECK. 

That closes with the darkness, and awakes 
When the new morn awakens. So their love 
Caught new life from their often interviews, 
And opened, and grew riper; their young hearts 
Beat in a truer harmony the more 
Their looks were blended, and their words exchang- 
ed. 
So they passed on in love, a flowery path 
Over a fragrant meadow, where all hues 
Of loveliness were painted, and all airs 
Of fragrance flowing. In the pure blue heaven, 
Calm as a summer day, serenity 
Smiled ever, and their hearts partook the calm, 
That reigned so bright around them. 'Twas a time 
Of Eden, such as soon will pass away, 
And leave the storm behind it. Not for earth, 
Not for the changeful beings, who in sport 
Or sorrow dwell amid its thorns and flowers, 
Is this serenity a certain thing, 
Above the reach of passion, or the clouds 
That chill and darken. They had lived awhile 
Most happy, in their pure and innocent love : 
They were too young for evil ; and they knew 
But ill the feeling which pervaded them, 
And drew them to each other's side, and made 
Their hours of meeting ecstacy. Their play, 
Their walks, their books, their talk of other days 
And other nations, all that they had gleaned 
From nature and from man — these had a zest, 
Which they could ill account for; but they knew, 
And keenly felt, its happiness. They looked 
Affection, but they told it not : their love 
Was silent ; it grew on through many years, 
And ripened as the tender down of youth 
Showed the approach of manhood. Then it spake, 
And would not be denied. The quiet stream, 



THE WRECK. 185 

Which through its banks of velvet turf and flowers, 
Flowed in an unseen channel, with a voice 
Low whispering o'er its smooth and sandy bed — 
This stream now gathered strength, and checked 

and bound, 
Rushed to its freedom — it could not prevail. 
The laws of honour, and the stern behest 
Of a false order, chained them, and compelled 
Their kindred spirits to a separate path, 
And told them they must part, and meet no more. 

Her life was humble, and her simple home 
Showed little of the greatness which lay hid 
Beneath so plain a shelter. Ivied walls, 
And woodbines trained to overarch the doors 
And windows ; some few beds of summer flowers, 
And a wild shrubbery, where neatness reigned, 
And only checked the too luxuriant growth 
Of Nature, but subdued it not ; within 
A plain well- ordered household, without show 
Of wealth or fashion — this concealed from all, 
Who were not in the secret, what had marred 
The peace of its possessor, and had drawn 
The parasite and flatterer to disturb 
The rest he sought so earnestly and long. 
He found it and was happy. He had marked 
The growing fondness of these youthful ones, 
And sometimes feared, but did not yet refuse 
His sanction to their interviews. No sign 
Of aught but common friendship yet had met 
His watchful eye ; but when he saw the flame 
Come forth in energy, and at the time 
When love is danger, and if checked not, death — 
Then he was filled with fears, and well he knew, 
Unless their fondness could be linked by law, 
In the pure bond of wedded love, that ruin 
Would soon overtake them, aad his treasured child 



184 THE WRECIL. 

Be cast on the cold wo*ld, its sport and scorn. 
Therefore he sought the parents of the youth, 
The high and lordly. In their castle hall 
They met him, under frowning battlements, 
Behind the high-arched gateway, in the midst 
Of trophies and of pictures, which revealed 
The greatness of their ancestry. Their pride 
"Was stung by the base offer, and they spurned 
The good man from their presence, and pronounced 
Their deepest malediction on their son, 
If he should ever think of stooping down 
From the high perch of his nobility, 
To woo and wed with plebeians, and those poor. 

It soon was ended — with the generous heart 
Of a young noble, who has joined the pride 
Of lofty birth with all the unchecked force 
Of nature, he refused to bend his soul 
To the stern mandates of society. 
He loved — loved keenly ; and he could not bow 
To what seemed tyranny, and so he sought 
His wonted happiness, at least the bliss 
Of mutual tears, and vows of tenderness, 
Never to leave their loves, but always cling 
To the fixed hope, that there should be a time 
When they could meet unfettered, and be blessed 
With the full happiness of certain love. 
He sought his usual meeting, but he found 
The welcome door closed on him, and was told, 
He must away, for though his noble life, 
Bright with its many virtues, and high deeds, 
Had nought to alienate her father's heart, 
Yet their unequal fortunes must forever 
Part them, and therefore he must not delay. 
He turned with heavy heart, and slowly went, 
With often pauses, to the sounding shore, 
And, seated on a broken rock, looked long 



THE WRECK. 185 

Over the far blue waters. " I will go,*' 
He said, after long silence, " I will go 
Toother lands, and find in other worlds, 
Wherewith to quell this passion, if a love 
So long and deeply cherished, can be quelled 
By time and change. There is no pleasure here j 
The cold dead-hearted nuptials, which the great 
Seek, in their anxious longing to retain 
The show of their once sure ascendency, 
Made sure by personal greatness, and the sway 
Of a high spirit, and a lofty mind 

O'er meaner souls these are my deepest scorn, 

My horror, and my loathing. I am one 

Who find within me a nobility 

That spurns the idle prating of the great, 

And their mean boast of what their fathers were, 

While they themselves are fools, effeminates, 

The scorn of all who know the worth of mind 

And virtue. I have cherished in my heart 

A love for one, whose beauty would have charmed 

In Athens, and have won the sensual love 

Of Eastern monarchs ; but to the pure heart, 

And the great soul within her, 'tis to me 

As nothing, and I know what 'tis to love 

A spiritual beauty, and behind the foil 

Of an unblemished loveliness still find 

Charms of a higher order, and a power 

Deeper and more resistless. Had I found 

Such thoughts and feelings, such a clear deep stream 

Of mind, in one whom vulgar men had thrown 

As a dull pebble from them, 1 had loved, 

Not with a love less fond, nor with a flame 

Of less intense devotion. I must go ; 

I must forget. There is a sense of death 

Comes o'er me, when I tear myself away 

From one so bright and lovely. Had the Sun 



186 THE WRECK. 

Set in an endless darkness, life had been 
Not darker than the journey I must take 
Alone, along a hard and thorny way, 
Where only interest rules, and faith and love 
Are banished, and the cold and heartless crowd 
X.ive, each the other's plunderer, as if life 
Were only meant for rapine, and poor man 
Were made to prey upon his kindred wretch. 
But I must go— 'only one short adieu, 
Only a few fond words, a few dear looks, 
One kiss at parting, and our hopes are ended. 
We long have dreamed of happiness, long known 
Joys which were more than mortal, long have felt 
The bliss of mingled hearts and blended souls, 
And long have thought the vision was eternal : 
It vanishes, and I am now a Wretch, 
And what will be her sorrows, none can tell. " 
The sun was setting, and his last rays threw 
Bright colours on the clouds that hung around 
The mountains, dimly rising in the west 
Over a broad expanse of sheeted gold, 
On which a ship lay floating. It was calm— 
Her sails were set, but yet the dying wind 
Scarce woo'd them, as they trembled on the yard 
With an uncertain motion. She arose, 
As a swan rises on her gilded wings, 
When on a lake at sunset she uprears 
Her form from out the waveless stream, and steers 
Into the far blue ether — so that ship 
Seemed lifted from the waters, and suspended, 
Winged with her bright sails in the silent air. 
A voice came from that ship, the voice of joy, 
The song of a light heart, and it invoked 
The coming of the breeze, to send them forth 
Over the rolling ocean. He looked out 
On the wide tea, and on the sheeted bay, 



THE WRECK. 187 

And on the rocking vessel ; and at once 

His purpose was resolved. He must away, 

He must to other regions, and there strive 

To conquer love so cherished. He drew out 

His pencil, and then traced few hurried lines, 

Telling her of his absence, and his hope 

Of happiness at his return, and yet 

Ending it with a fear, that he should never 

Cross the wide waters to her : — he too gave 

His signal ; if perchance a ship drew near, 

And bore a pennon on the topmast yard, 

White with a heart stamped on it, she might know 

He was there, hastening home, and be prepared 

To meet him, and be happy. This he took, 

And up a narrow valley, hung with trees, 

"Whose roots clung to the rifted rock, whose boughs 

Met, and o'erarched the glade ; along the bank 

Of a clear stream, that calmly wound its way 

Under this verdant canopy, and flowed 

Through a fresh turf, and beds of scented flowers ; 

Up this he took his path, and as he drew 

Near to the garden wall, and stood with ear 

Attentive to a sound, that came to him 

On the still evening air, as if a hymn 

Were sung above the clouds, and floated down 

Through mist and dews, and softly fell to earth, 

Charming the ear of darkness — soon he saw 

Beneath a vine bower, seated on a couch 

Of closely matted turf, the tender girl, 

Where all his wishes centered, and he drew 

Silently through the thicket to her side. 

She started first in fear, but when she saw 

The well-known youth, she deeply blushed and 

smiled ; 
Then thinking of his banishment, she dropped 
Warm tears of truest sorrow. He, with fond 



188 THE WRECK. 

And feeling voice, consoled her, and renewed 

His oft repeated vows, and told of years 

Of undisturbed affection — how that time 

And truth would conquer, and their love would be 

Brighter by their affliction. Though his heart 

Ached with the thought of parting, and was forced 

Even to a stern composure, yet he smiled 

To make her happy. " We must part awhile ; 

I must go o'er the sea to other lands ; 

It is the call of duty ; but fear not, 

I shall return, and then our loves are sure. 

Dream not of danger on the sea — one power 

Protects us always, and the honest heart 

Fears not the tempest. We must part awhile ; 

A few short months — though short, they must be 

long 
Without thy dear society ; but yet 
We must endure it, and our love will be 
The fonder after parting — it will grow 
Intenser in our absence, and again 
Burn with a keener glow, when 1 return. 
Fear not ; this is my last resolve, and this 
My parting kiss." He put the folded lines 
In her soft hand, and kissed her offered lips 
Ardently, and then suddenly withdrew 
From her embrace, and down the narrow vale 
Fled on with hasty footsteps to the shore. 
Along the beach he wandered, looking out 
Upon the glorious sunset, which arrayed 
All things in glory, painting them with gold 
And deepest red and azure — over head 
The sky was coloured with the purest blue, 
And there one star shone forth, the star of love, 
His beacon ; and it hung above the ship 
As if it led him thither. He received 
The omen, and went onward. Out at sea 



THE WRECK, 189 

The broad waves heaved, now blue, now green, 

now tipped 
With a gilt foam, and on the unruffled bay 
There was a circle round the setting sun 
Of a most glittering gold, and as it spread 
Farther and farther out, it changed its hue 
To a clear glassy silver, till it seemed 
Thin air, and the far mountains hung above it 
Suspended in the sky. They darkly frowned, 
And their long shadows travelled o'er the bay, 
As the sun sank still lower, while their ridge 
Glowed like a flaming furnace, and a line 
Of mottled clouds, that rose behind them, stream- 
ing 
Into the clear cold North, was dyed with tints, 
Like the new rainbow, when it first comes out 
From the dark bosom of the thunder cloud, 
And spans it with its beauty, or the hues 
That veiled Aurora, when she first awoke 
And sprang from darkness, and with saffron robe 
And rosy fingers, drove her fiery car 
On over Ida to the higher heaven. 

He went amid these glorious things of earth, 
Transient as glorious, and along the beach 
Of snowy sands, and rounded pebbles, walked, 
Watching the coming of the evening tide, 
Rising with every ripple, as it kissed 
The gravel with a softly gurgling sound, 
And still advancing up the level shore, 
Till, in his deep abstraction, it flowed round 
His foot-prints, and awoke him. When he came, 
Where a long reef stretched out, and in its bays 
Scooped from the shelving rocks, received the sea, 
And held it as^a mirror deep and dark, 
He paused, and standing then against the ship, 
He gave his signal. Soon he saw on board 



190 THE WRECK. 

The stir of preparation ; they let down 

A boat, and soon her raised and dipping oars 

Flashed in the setting light, and round her prow 

The gilt sea swelled and crinkled, spreading out 

In a wide circle ; and she glided on 

Smoothly, and with a whispering sound, that grew 

Louder with every dipping of the oars, 

Until she n eared the reef, and sent a surge 

Up through its coves, and covered them with foam. 

He stepped on board, and soon they bore him back 

To the scarce rocking vessel, where she lay 

"Waiting the night wind. On the deck he sat, 

And looked to one point only, save at times, 

When his eye glanced around the mingled scene 

Of beauty and sublimity. Meanwhile 

The sun had set, the painted sky and clouds 

Put off their liveries, the bay its robe 

Of brightness, and the stars were thick in heaven. 

They looked upon the waters, and below 

Another sky swelled out, thick set with stars, 

And chequered with light clouds, which from the 

North 
Came flitting o'er the dim-seen hills, and shot 
Like birds across the bay. A distant shade 
Dimmed the clear sheet — it darkened, and it drew 
Nearer. The waveless sea was seen to rise 
In feathery curls, and soon it met the ship, 
And a breeze struck her. Quick the floating sails 
Rose up and drooped again. The wind came on 
Fresher ; the curls were waves ; the sails were 

filled 
Tensely ; the vessel righted to her course, 
And ploughed the waters ; round her prow the foam 
Tossed, and went back along her polished sides, 
And floated off, bounding the rushing wake, 
That seemed to pour in torrents from her utern. 



THE WRECK. 191 

The wind still freshened, and the sails were stretch- 
ed, 
Till the yards cracked. She bent before its force, 
And dipped her lee-side low beneath the waves. 
Straight out she went to sea, as when a hawk 
Darts on a dove, and with a motionless wing 
Cuts the light yielding air. The mountains dipped 
Their dark walls to the waters, and the hills 
Scarce reared their green tops o'er them. One 

white point, 
On which a lighthouse blazed, alone stood out 
In the broad sea, and there he fixed his eye, 
Taking his last look of his native shore. 
Night wore away, and still the wind blew strong, 
And the ship ploughed the waves, which now were 

heaved 
In high and rolling billows. All were glad, 
And laughed and shouted, as she darted on, 
And plunged amid the foam, and tossed it high 
Over the deck, as when a strong curbed steed 
Flings the froth from him in his eager race. 
All had been dimly star-lit, but the moon 
Late rising, silvered o'er the tossing sea, 
And lighted up its foam-wreaths, and just threw 
One parting glance upon the distant shores. 
They met his eye — the sinking rocks were bright, 
And a clear line of silver marked the hills, 
Where he had said farewell. A sudden tear 
Gushed, and his heart was melted ; but he soon 
Repressed the weakness, and he calmly watched 
The fading vision. Just as it retired 
Into the common darkness, on his eyes 
Sleep fell, and with his looks turned to his home, 
And dearer than his home — to her he loved, 
He closed them, and his thoughts were lost in 

dreams 



192 THE WRECK. 

Bright and too glad to be realities. 
Calmly he slept, and lived on happy dreams, 
Till from the bosom, of the boundless sea, 
Now spreading far and wide without a shore, 
The cloudless sun arose, and he awoke. 

The sky was still serene, and from the bed 
Of ocean darted forth the glowing sun, 
And flashed along the waters. On they sailed : 
The wind blew steady, and they saw that sun 
Rise, and go down, and set, and still it blew 
Freshly and calmly. They had left the shore 
Long leagues behind them, and the mid-sea now 
Bore them upon its bosom on their way 
To lands where other flowers and other trees 
Dress out the landscape, and where other men 
Walk in the light of Heaven. Thither he went, 
And none knew, of his kindred, when or where 
He had escaped them. They, with anxious quest, 
Sought him, and after long and fruitless search 
Believed him dead. Awhile they mourned his loss, 
As great ones mourn, and then he passed away 
Into oblivion, and they filled his piace 
In their affections with a gilded toy, 
And found their treasures ampler by his death. 
Not so with her who loved him ; when he fled, 
She followed, but soon sunk beneath the weight 
Of deep and sudden sorrow. He had gone 
Over the sea ; had sought the dangerous wave, 
And might be wrecked, or on some distant shore 
Lingering a hopeless captive. To that point 
Where the flag waved, she often bent her steps, 
And gazed upon the ocean earnestly, 
Watching each dim speck on the farthest verge 
Of sight, and deeming every cloud a sail, 
And every wreath of foam her lover's sign. 
Two years had gone away, and she had thus 



THE WRECK, 195 

Sought the high cliff at morning, noon, and night, 

And gazed in eager longing till her eye 

Was fixed and glazed. Her cheek grew thin and 

pale ; 
Her form was wasted ; and all knew that sorrow 
Preyed on the blossom of her health, and eat 
Her life away. A little while, and death 
Would come to her deliverance. Little know 
The cold unfeeling crowd how strong the love, 
The first warm love of youth; how long it lives 
Unfed and unrequited ; how it bears 
Absence "and cruel scorn, and still looks calm 
And patient on the eye, that turns aside, 
And shows its studied coldness-— -how much more 
It burns and feeds upon the flame of life, 
When it was fully met, and found a heart 
As warm and ardent, and as bent to hers, 
As hers to him. Youth is the time of love : 
All other loves are lifeless, and but flowers 
Wreathed round decay, and with a livid hue 
Blowing upon a grave. The first fresh love 
Dies never wholly ; it lives on through pain 
And disappointment; often when the heart 
Is crushed and all its sympathies pressed riiit, 
This lingers, and awakens, and shines bright, 
Even on the borders of a wretched grave. 
Unhappy he, who throws that gift away ; 
Unhappy he, who lets a tender heart, 
Bound to him by the earliest ties of love, 
Fall from him by his own neglect, and die, 
Because it met no kindness, and was spurned 
Even in the earliest offer. Life soon fades, 
And with it love ; and when it once has faded, 
There is no after bloom, no second spring. 
" So passes in the passage of a day 
The flower and verdure of our mortal life ; 
I 



194 THE WHECK. 

Nor, though the spring renew her fruits and 

flowers, 
Doth it renew its beauty, but it fades 
Once and forever. Let us pluck the rose, 
In the unclouded morning of this day, 
Which soon will lose its bright serenity. 
O! let us pluck the first blown rose of love; 
Let us love now in this our fairest youth, 
When love can find a full and fond return."* 

One evening I had wandered by the shore, 
Looking upon the ocean, as it lay 
Spread in its beauty round me. 'Twas a time 
For spirits, all had such serenity. 
Scarce had a cloud chequered the autumn sky, 
That rose above me in a boundless arch 
Of purest azure. All the woods were hung 
With many tints, the fading livery 
Of life, in which it mourns the coming storms 
Of winter, and the quiet winds awoke 
Faint dirges in their withered leaves, and breathed 
Their sorrows through the groves. My heartfelt 

soft 
Under their tender influence. I seemed 
A sharer in the grief of sighing winds 
And whispering trees. I clomb the rock, and trod 
The dying grass that grew upon its brow, 
And gazed upon the ocean, now as bright 
As in the freshest spring, unchangeable, 
Always the same, or only to the force 
Of calm and tempest yielding, never old, 
And never fading ; in its wildest storms 
Soon to be calm, and when in sheeted light 
Spread to the farthest circle of the sky, 
Soon to obey the winds, and wake in wrath. 



* Cosi trapassa al trapassar d'un giorno, &c— Tasso. 



tTHE WRECK. 195 

X walked along that rock, and heard the waves 
Chafing its foot, and saw the tossing foam 
Playing its eddies round it. Then the tide 
Had risen, and a wind came from the sea 
Curling the little waves, until they broke 
In infant surges on the murmuring shore. 
The sky grew dark ; and, as I homeward turned, 
I saw a woman sitting by the staff 
On which the signal hung, with mantle wrapped 
Close round her, and with eye intently fixed 
On an approaching vessel, as it came 
Quickly before the wind, and up the bay 
Glided. She followed it with earnest look, 
Until it turned a distant point, and drew 
Dimly behind the hills and vanished. Then 
She turned again to sea, and long she looked 
On the white curls of foam, as if she saw 
A signal there ; but yet there was no sail 
On the dark waters. With a lingering foot 
Back she retired, and, often turning, looked 
Still earnestly abroad, and found no hope. 
I saw her weep, and faintly hang her head, 
As a pale lily hangs, when, filled with rain, 
After long summer heats and heavy showers, 
It bends upon its withered stalk, and sheds 
The unwelcome moisture. Slowly she withdrew 
Into a thicket, where a trodden path, 
Her daily path, led to her father's home. 

He saw her fading cheek ; he knew the fire 
That wasted her; and with a parent's love 
He sought to heal her grief, but only made 
The wound still deeper. Comfort cannot soothe 
The heart, whose life is centered in the thought 
Of happy loves, once known, and still in hope 
Living with a consuming energy. 
He found remonstrance fruitless, reason vain ; 



196 THE WRECK. 

And therefore, with a kindness, which was wise, 
lie humoured her, and let her seek that rock 
Unchecked, and only watched, that nought of harm 
Might meet her. So she sought it, when the snow 
Mantled it, and the sea was rudely lashed 
By the cold north wind ; but a father's hand 
Was near to guard her. It was now divined, 
That he, whom she had loved, had crossed the sea, 
And still was living, and would soon return. 
Some then were joyous, not with unfeigned joy ; 
For when they told their hopes, that he would come 
From his long wanderings home, they inly felt 
A sorrow, which revealed itself, and checked 
Often the words of comfort, which they gave 
To those who wept his loss sincerely, those 
"Who cannot conquer nature, which will make 
A child forever dear, and through the clouds, 
That vice and selfish greatness cast around, 
Sometimes will flash abroad, and be revealed. 

Winter had passed away, and then Spring came, 
Lovely as ever, with her crown of flowers, 
And dress of verdure. She was decked with smiles, 
And as she danced along the springing turf, 
New flowers awoke to welcome her, and birds 
Hailed her from bush and forest, Then the sea, 
Girt by its greener shores, seemed rolling on 
With brighter waves, and the sun sparkled there 
With an unusual brilliancy. The earth 
Was beautiful, and like the seat of Gods, 
Or what we dream of Eden ; and all hearts 
Were sharers in its gladness. Bird and beast 
Felt it, and, as they leaped, or as they flew, 
They spake their joy ; and even the voiceless woods, 
Mute in themselves:, were vocal with the winds, 
And the low murmuring breezes through their 

boughs 
Seemed to speak out their still and quiet bliss. 



THE WRECK. 197 

All hearts were glad with the glad season. One 
Alone knew nought of pleasure, and the smiles 
Of others were a mockery to her, 
And told her of the joy, that once had been, 
But was not, and she could not hope, would be. 
Hope, by too long deferring, had gone out, 
And left her soul in darkness. Still she went 
Daily to that one point, and there she gazed 
Fixedly on the ocean, till her head 
Grew dizzy, and her reason almost went; 
And then she wandered home, and wept away 
The fever of her brain. A woodbine grew 
Over her window, and its leaves shut out 
The light, and now its flowers were opening forth 
Their sweetness, and the wind that entered there 
Came loaded with its perfume. Once she loved 
The tufted flowers, and she inhaled their breath 
With a deep sense of gladness ; but she now 
Repelled it as a hateful thing, and wished 
The vine were torn and scattered. Every year 
A linnet came, and built her cup-like nest 
Within that arbour, and she fed her young, 
And sang them to their slumbers, and at dawn 
Wakened them with her clear and lively note. 
She fed the timid creature, till it grew 
Familiar, and would sit upon her hand, 
And pick the crumbs she gave it ; but she now 
Neglected it, and when it came, and soiight 
Her former kindness, she regarded not 
Its fluttering and its song. Her heart was chilled 
And dead to all its softer sympathies. 
It cherished but one feeling, hopeless love, 
Love stronger by endurance, ever growing 
With the decay of life and all its powers. 

He had been wandering long, and found no rest ; 
Nothing could tear the image from his soul, 



198 THE WRECK. 

That dwelt there as an ever present God, 

Controlling all his being. He had seen 

Nature in a new beauty ; and a heart, 

Free from all other influence, had swelled 

Beneath the bright enchantment ; but he looked 

On all the fair variety around 

With a cold eye, because he looked alone, 

And felt that what he looked on, was not seen 

By one, who had been ever in his walks, 

As an attendant spirit, watching all 

That lifted him, or soothed him, with a sense 

Of kindred awe or pleasure. When alone 

He could not mingle with the glorious things 

Of Earth and Heaven ; he could not pass away 

Into the open depths of the far sky, 

And dwell among its many-coloured forms 

Of cloud and vapour, where they hung the arch, 

As with imperial tapestry, and veiled 

The throne of the Omnipotent. The Earth, 

Now in its newest Spring, all dressed with flowers, 

And redolent of roses and of vines 

From their wide purple beds, and sunward slopes, 

Where the bee murmured, and the early dews 

Soon rose in clouds of perfume, as the dawn 

Came o'er the pine-clad mountains, and lit up 

A world of present life and ancient ruin, 

Where the rose bloomed as brightly, and the vine 

Shot forth as heavy cluster and full wreaths 

Of ivy twined around each tottering pile, 

And mantled arch and column, with its deep 

Luxuriant verdure ; all that he beheld 

Of ever-growing nature and of man, 

Whose works are fading, and when they decay, 

Have no restoring energy, but drop 

Fragment by fragment into utter ruin ; 

All that had waked in other hearts the love 



THE WJIECK. 199 

Of ancient glory, and the proud resolve 
To be, as they were, glorious, or had filled 
The soul with sorrow, and the eye with tears, 
Over their fallen greatness, yet had made 
This sorrow partly joyous, by the sight 
Of a new life forever springing round them, 
And still as fresh and fragrant, as when first 
Bright from the quarry, their new temples stood 
Proud in the sun, and lifted high their fronts 
To the admiring eye of gods and men — 
This had to him no pleasure ; he could not 
Raze out the deep-fixed passion, which so long 
Had been his daily happiness, and formed 
And fashioned all his studies and his joys 
To this one pure enjoyment. JEarth was fair, 
And Heaven was glorious, when he heard her say s 
They were thus fair and glorious ; but alone, 
They had no form nor colour, and were lost 
In one dim melancholy hue of death. 
And so with man — he wandered through the crowd 
In solitude, that coldest solitude, 
Which tortures, while it chills us. They were gay 
And busy, but he heeded not ; the great 
Rolled by him, and were noticed not : the poor 
Pleaded, and yet he listened not: — one thought 
Alone went with him, and ali other things 
Stirred round him like the shadows of a dream. 
He would not linger thus ; he looked to home, 
And her who gave to home a double charm. 
He was resolved, and soon again the sea 
Received him ; and for many days the sun 
Beheld him steering to his native shore. 

'Twas a calm summer evening — one white sail 
Moved on the silent water, motionless, 
Scarce stealing to the shore. She watched that sail, 
And followed it with an inquiring eye, 



200 THE WRECK. 

In every tack it took to catch the wind, 

Fancying she saw the signal. Slowly on 

It came. The glassy ocean seemed to change 

At distance into air ; and so the ship 

Seemed moving like a bird along the sky. 

Sometimes it stood athwart her, and the sails, 

Hung loosely on the yards, seemed waving lines 

Tinged with the sunset ; and again it turned 

With prow directed to her, and at once 

The broad white canvass threw its silvery sheet 

Full on her eye, and glittered in the west. 

Nearer it came, but slowly ; till at length 

Its form was marked distinctly, and she caught 

Eagerly, as it waved upon a yard 

Near the main topmast, what her wearied eye 

Had sought so long, and found not. It was there ; 

The signal, one white pennon, with a heart 

Stamped in its centre ; and at once her joy 

Was speechless and o'erfiowing. Fixed, she looked 

With trembling earnestness, and down her cheeks 

The tears ran fast, and her scarce-moving lips 

Had words without a voice. Thus she sat long, 

Motionless in the fervour of her joy, 

Absorbed in one emotion, which had bound 

Her form unto her spirit, and had made 

All other powers the ministers to thought. 

They hurried through her mind, her first fond love, 

Its many pleasures, hours of early hope 

Unclouded by the fear of coming ill, 

And present happiness, which, like the dawn 

In the sweet month of May, is full of life, 

And yet serene and tranquil, budding out 

With blossoms of futurity, and spreading 

To the bright eye of Heaven the tender flowers, 

Where the young fruit lies hidden, till the sun 

Ripen it to its full maturity. 



THE WRECK. SOI 

These hurried through her mind, and with them 

came 
Long anxious days, long days of bitterness, 
Dark with the fears that weigh upon the heart 
Whose love is young and tender, when the chance 
Of sea or battle passes o'er the head 
Of him who has the secret of her soul. 

The sun was setting, and the dazzling orb 
Sunk down behind the mountains, darting up 
Long rays of golden light into the air, 
Like glories round the sacred countenance 
In one of Raphael's pictures. All was clear 
But one dark cloud, which rose from out the point 
Where the storm gathers after sultry days, 
And launches forth the lightning. This heaved up 
Its dusky billows, and their tips were tinged ' 
With a bright flame, while all below was dark 
Fearfully, and it swelled before the wind, 
Like the strong canvass of a gallant ship 
Standing before the tempest. It just crowned 
The hill at sunset ; but it now came on, 
First slowly, till it rose upon the air, 
Frowning, and threw its shadow o'er the earth, 
And flashed intensely ; then it seemed to move 
With a new pace, and every instant swept 
Still farther on the sky, and sent its voice 
Deep-roaring with the mingled sound of winds 
Amid the shaken forests, and the peals 
Re-echoed from the mountains. Now the sea 
Darkened beneath its shadow, and it curled 
Without a breath, as if it shook in fear 
liefcre the coming tempest. She looked wild, 
First on the cloud, then on the ship, which now 
Steered to a cove behind a sandy point, 
On which the light-house stood, but yet the winds 
Were light and baffling, and against her course ; 
I 2 



202 THE WRECK. 

And so the sails flapped loosely, and she rocked 
Motionless on the crisping waves, and lay 
Waiting, a victim, for the threatening storm. 
Then, as she looked with an intenser gaze, 
She saw the sweeps put out, and every arm 
Strained to the effort, but their strength availed not 
To send them to a haven. Then her heart 
Sank, and her hopes were darkened, till her form 
Shook with her fears. The clouds rolled on the 

In mingling billows, and the lightnings leaped 
From point to point ; then in an instant burst 
The thunder crash, and one undying roar 
Filled the wild air. At last the cold wind came, 
And the flag streamed and quivered, and her robes 
Flew lightly round her. First short broken waves 
Rose on the bay ; their tops were white with toara, 
And on they hurried, like the darting flight 
Of sea-mews when they fly before the storm. 
She locked upon the ship ; all hands alo.t 
Took in the sails, and scarcely were they furled, 
When the blast struck her. To its force she bowed, 
And as the waves rose now with mountain swell, 
Upward she sprang, and then she rushed away 
Into the gulfy waters. Now the storm 
Stood o'er her, and the rain and hail came down 
In torrents. All was darkness ; through the air 
The o-ushing clouds streamed onward, and they took 
The nearest 3 headlands from her straining sight, 
And made the sea invisible, but when 
A flash revealed it, and she saw the surge 
Pouring upon the rocks below, all foam 
And fury. What a mingled sound above, 
Around her, and beneath her ; one long peal 
Seemed to perVade the heavens ; and one wide rush 
Of winds and rain poured by her; and the sound 



THE WRICK. 205 

Of the dashed billows on the rocks below 

Rang like a knell. No vessel met her then ; 

They lit the signal lamp, she saw it not ; 

They fired the gun, but in the louder roar 

Of waters it was drowned, and they were left 

Alone to struggle with the warring waves. 

A cry went forth, "a ship was on the rocks,'* 

And hundreds crowded to the shore to aid 

The suffering crew, and fires were kindled there, 

But all availed not — not a man was saved. 

The storm went swiftly by ; and soon the winds 

Subsided, and the western sky shone out, 

And light glanced o'er the waters. On a reef, 

That stretched from off the cliffs along that shore, 

The broken wreck lay scattered ; and at last 

One and another corse came floating up, 

But none were saved. They wandered o'er the 

sands ; 
And here a bale lay stranded ; there an oar, 
And there a yard. Just as the cloud had flown 
Over the zenith, and the moon shone out 
From its dark bosom, she went down the rocks, 
And bent her trembling steps along the shore. 

The moon looked out in sadness, and her light 
Threw a faint glimmering on the broken waves, 
And paled the dying watch-fires, as they fell 
Flickering away, and showed the fearful looks 
Of those who watched the wreck, and stood to save. 
The waves still rolled tremendously, and burst 
Loud thundering on the rocks : they tossed the 

foam 
High up the hills, and ploughed the moving sands, 
Sweeping the fragments forth, then rushing back 
With a devouring strength, that cleared the shore. 
The west shone fair; the evening star was brigl.r, 
And many glittering star* wer« gathering round, 



204 THE WRECK. 

Set in a deep, dark blue. The distant hills 
Showed faintly, and long wreaths of mist arose 
Curling around their sides, like cottage smoke 
Sent from the hidden valley in the dawn. 
O'er all the moon presided, and her face, 
Though clear, was darkened, and it filled the heart 
Of the beholder with a silent awe, 
And a cold heavy sadness. On the sea 
Her light descended, and a silver wake 
Came from beneath her onward to the shore, 
Crossing the bursting waves. The cloud still lay 
Dark-rolling in the east, and often sent 
Pale flashes forth ; and still the thunder growled 
Fainter and fainter, as the storm moved on 
Over the distant ocean. There the moon 
Lit a faint bow, that spanned the cloud, and seemed 
Just fading into darkness. All was still, 
But the contending waters, and the drops, 
Now trickling from the forest leaves, were heard 
Pattering upon the grass ; and as a sign 
That a sure calm had come, the fire-fly lit 
Its lamp along the meadows, and tlie chirp 
Of the green locust from the thicket told 
How tranquil was the air. A solemn fear 
Went through the hearts of all, as they surveyed 
The corpses, but their faces all were strange. 
They took them from the beach, and decently 
Conveyed them to a shelter, there to wait 
The last sad offices. Alone she went 
Still farther on the shore, until she came 
Where a long reef stood out, on which the ship 
Was broken ; and the very reef where he 
First went on board, despairing and resolved. 
One feelirig led her onward, and sustained 
Her wasted body, (which was sinking fast 
Beneath the desperate conflict,) with the strength 



THE WRECK. 205 

Of madness, and her easy steps betrayed not 
The woe that wrung within her. She had seen 
Her lover standing far upon that reef; 
Had seen the boat go there, and bear him off, 
And as the ship went out to sea had fainted. 
Therefore she sought that reef, with a wild hope— 
Such often tokens madness— that she there 
Might find him safely rescued. She now stood 
On the projecting rocks, and as she threw 
Her dark eye downward to a glimmering cove, 
She saw him. Lifted by the swelling wave, 
He seemed yet living, and a shrill laiiP-h told 
Her glad but wandering spirit. Down she leaped 
And clasped him ;— he was motionless and cold. 
She kissed him, but he opened not his eyes, 
And smiled not. Then she spoke the much-loved 

name, 
With an endearing tone, but none replied. 

'v^ rt tI -° U n0t living ? thou wert once so kind > 
Thy smile so happy, and thy kiss so warm ; 

But thou art cold now, and thine eye darts' not 

Upon me, as it wont to do ; thy lips 

Move not— thou hast no voice, no welcome for 

me." 
She raised her head, and as she caught the moon 
Half veileu in vapour, from her glassy eye 
The tears stole down, and with a quivering voice 
Faint as a night-wind through the falling leaves 
In autumn,—" It is over then," she spake ; 
" The dream is over ; he indeed is wrecked) 
As I had fancied long ; he cannot wake ; 
This is not sleep ; there is no life-blood here; 
No flush upon his forehead; he is cold, 
And will not wake again. He said to' me, 
Farewell, perhaps forever !— O ! too true 
The last fond words at parting •— but forever— 



206 THE WRECK. 

Ah ! no — I meet him — I have lingered long — 
He calls me on my journey — he awaits me, 
And why do I delay ? — I come, my love ;-— 
Only a moment, and I come, my love.'* 
Suddenly she sprang forth, with outstretched arms, 
And a wild look, that told there was no hope ; 
A few short steps, she paused, and then sank down, 
As a flower sinks upon the new-mown turf, 
Beautiful even in death. They came, and raised 
The dying girl. Her loose locks floated wide ; 
And on her slender neck her languid head 
Drooped, and her eyes were closed. Her lips still 

moved 
"With the last breath, and then were still. At once 
Her madness was no more. A tender smile 
Played round her, and her looks were full of love 
And gentleness, such as when first she met, 
And first awoke his love. She long had borne 
The conflict, and with desperate energy 
Been nerved to all endurance ; but this shock 
Subdued her, and her spirit had departed, 
And well the)' knew its passage was in peace. 
They both were buried, where they first had met, 
Beneath one stone, and they were wept by all. 
A willow grows above them, with its boughs 
Drooping, as if in sorrow ; and at night 
A sweet bird sings there, and the village girls 
Say 'tis a spirit's voice. They dress that grave 
Each Sabbath-day with roses ; and they strew 
Fresh violets there on May-day, and then sing 
A simple tale of true love, till their hearts 
Are swelling, and their cheeks are bathed in tears. 
Love knows no rank, and when two hearts would 

meet 
On earth, but cannot, they will meet in Heaven. 
All heart* that love are equal in the grave. 



RUINS. 

Tempus edax rerum, tuque, invidiosa vetuste, 
Omnia destruitis. — Ovid. 

Earth is a waste of ruins ; so I deemed, 

"When the broad sun was sinking in the sea 

Of sand, that rolled around Palmyra. Night 

Shared with the dying day a lonely sky, 

The canopy of regions void of life, 

And still as one interminable tomb. 

The shadows gathered on the desert, dark 

And darker, till alone one purple arch 

Marked the far place of setting. All above 

Was purely azure, for no moon in heaven 

"Walked in her brightness, and with snowy light 

Softened the deep intensity, that gave 

Such awe unto the blue serenity 

Of the high throne of gods, the dwelling-place 

Of suns and stars, which are to us as gods, 

The fountains of existence and the seat 

Of all we dream of glory. Dim and vast 

The ruins stood around me — temples, fanes, 

"Where the bright sun was worshipped, where they 

gave 
Homage to him, who frowns in storms, and rolls 
The desert like an ocean, where they bowed 
Unto the queen of beauty, she in heaven, 
Who gives the night its loveliness, and smiles 
Serenely on the drifted waste, and lends 
A silver softness to the ridgy wave, 
Where the dark Arab sojourns, and with tales 
Of love and beauty wears the tranquil night 
In poetry away ; her light the while 
Falling upon him, as a spirit falls, 
Dove-like or curling down in flame, a star 
Sparkling amid his flowing locks, or dews 



203 RUINS. 

That melt in gold, and steal into the heart, 
Making it one enthusiastic glow, 
As if the God were present, and his voice 
Spake on the eloquent lips, that pour abroad 
A gush of inspiration — bright as waves 
Swelling around Aurora's car, intense 
With passion as the fire that ever flows 
In fountains on the Caspian shore, and full 
As the wide-rolling majesty of Nile. 

Over these temples of an age of wild 
And dark belief, and yet magnificent 
In all that strikes the senses— beautiful 
In the fair forms they knelt to, and the domes 
And pillars which upreared them — full of life 
In their poetic festivals, when youth 
Gave loose to all its energy, in dance, 
And song, and every charm the fancy weaves 
In the soft twine of cultur'd speech, attuned 
In perfect concord to the full-toned lyre : 
"When nations gathered to behold the pomp 
That issued from the hallowed shrine in choirs 
Of youths, who bounded to the minstrelsy 
Of tender voices, and all instruments 
Of ancient harmony, in solemn trains 
Bearing the votive offerings, flowing horns 
Of plenty wreathed with flowers, and gushing o'er 
With the ripe clusters of the purple vine, 
The violet of the fig, the scarlet flush 
Of granates peeping from the parted rind, 
The citron shining through its glossy leaves 
In burnished gold, the carmine veiled in down, 
Like mountain snow, on which the living stream 
Flowed from Astarte's minion, all that hang 
In eastern gardens blended — while the sheaf 
Nods with its loaded cars, and brimming bowls 
Foam with the kindling element, the joy 



RUINS. 209 

Of banquet, and the nectar that inspires 
Man with the glories of a heightened power 
To feel the touch of beauty, and combine 
The scattered forms of elegance, till high 
Rises a magic vision, blending all 
That we have seen of glory; such as drew 
Assembled Greece to worship, when the form, 
"Who gathered all its loveliness, arose 
Dewy and blushing from the parent foam, 
Than which her tint was fairer, and with hand 
That seemed of living marble, parted back 
Her raven locks, and upward looked to Heaven, 
Smiling to see all Nature bright and calm. 
Over these temples whose long colonnades 
Are parted by the hand of time, and fall 
Pillar by pillar, block by block, and strovv 
The ground in shapeless ruin, night descends 
Unmingled, and the many stars shoot through 
The gaps of broken walls, and glance between 
The shafts of tottering columns, marking out 
Obscurely, on the dark blue sky, the form 
Of Desolation, who hath made these piles 
Her home, and sitting with her folded wings, 
"Wraps in her dusty robe the skeletons 
Of a once countless multitude, whose toil 
Reared palaces and theatres, and brought 
All the fair forms of Grecian art, to give 
Glory unto an island, girt with sands 
As barren as the ocean, where the grave 
And stately Doric marked the solemn fane 
Where wisdom dwelt, and on the fairer shrine 
Of beauty sprang the light Ionian wreathed 
With a soft volute, whose simplicity 
Becomes the deity of loveliness, 
Who with her snowy mantle, and her zone 
Woven with all attractions, and her locks 



210 RUINS. 

Flowing as Nature bade them flow, compels 
The sterner Powers to hang upon her smiles. 
And there the grand Corinthian lifted high 
Its flowery capital, to crown the porch, 
Where sat the sovereign of their hierarchy, 
The monarch armed with terror, whose curled locks 
Shaded a brow of thought and Arm resolve, 
Whose eye, deep sunk, shot out its central fires, 
To blast and wither all who dared confront 
The gaze of highest power; so sat their kings 
Enshrined in palaces, and when they came 
Thundering on their triumphal cars, all bright 
With diadem of gold, and purple robe 
Flashing with gems, before their rushing train 
Moving in serried columns fenced in steel, 
The herd of slaves obsequious sought the dust, 
And gazed not as the mystic pomp rolled by. 
Such were thy monarchs, Tad m or ! now thy streets 
Are silent, and thy walls o'erthrown, no voice 
Speaks through the long dim night of years, to tell 
These were once peopled dwellings ; I could dream 
Some sorcerer, in his moon-light wanderings, reared 
These wonders in an hour of sport, to mock 
The stranger with the show of life, and send 
Thought through the mist of ages in the search 
Of nations who are now no more, who lived 
Erst in the pride of empire, ruled and swayed 
Millions in their supremacy, and toiled 
To pile these monuments of wealth and skill* 
That here the wandering tribe might pitch its tents 
Securer in their empty courts, and we, 
Who have the sense of greatness, low might kneel 
To ancient mind, and gather from the torn 
And scattered fragments, visions of the power, 
And splendour, and sublimity of old, 
Mocking the grandest canopy of Heaven, 
And imaging the pomp of Gods below. 



A TALE. 

She had been touched with grief, and on her 
cheek 
Sorrow had left its impress in the pale 
Soft tint of fading loveliness. She bore 
Meekly the burden of her woes, and told 
To none the secret of her heart. It preyed 
Forever on her life, and blanched away 
The roses which had bloomed so wooingly 
And freshly on her laughing lips. Her smile 
Grew fainter, and it only spread a line 
Of a most tender carmine, where the snow 
Scarce had a stain to mark it from the pure 

And perfect whiteness of her cheek and brow 

So pure, she seemed a living monument 
Of Parian marble ; and the flaxen curls 
That waved around her forehead, and the arch 
Darker and brighter bent above that eye, 
Which through long lashes spoke in looks of fire, 
And was the only eloquence she used — 
These, and at times a gushing to her cheek, 
Like the first flush of morning, or the faint 
Fast-dying purple, when the twilight steals 
Into the depth of darkness — these were all 
That told she yet was living, and was not 
An image of- the Graces, or the shade 
Of a departed maiden, which at night 
Visits the silent walks she loved, and hangs 
Over the grave she watered, till she took 
Her last repose beside it. 

She had been 
The gayest and the loveliest, and had moved 
Through the light dance, and in the bending crowd 
Of young admirers, like an infant queen 
Proud of her innocent beautv. There was one 



212 A TALE. 

Who looked, but spake not; and when others took 
Her hand to lead her through the merry hall, 
In steps all grace and harmony, he stole 
Aside, and wept in anguish. He was made 
Not for the place of mirth, but for the still 
And peaceful shade of feeling, and of thoughts 
Which have their home in higher souls, and are 
Lone, and unfriended and unknown below. 
His was a social nature ; yet not made 
To blend with crowds, but find in one alone, 
One fairy minister of soft delights, 
And pure as they are tender, that deep joy, 
Which none has ever uttered. Long he sought 
To win her to those calm retreats, and give 
To her a spirit kindred to his own, 
And lead her to the one and only love, 
The harmony of thought, and wish, and life, 
The union of all feelings, whence the deep 
Exhaustless fountain of their blended hearts 
Flows ever deeper, and has ever more 
Of music in its flow, and more of light 
And beauty in its fulness. Thus he dwelt 
On her fresh loveliness, until his life 
Was linked unto her image, and her form 
Mingled with every thought, and every spot, 
Where the new spring looked beautiful, was filled 
With her pervading presence ; but he dared 
Speak only to the mountain-winds her name, 
And only in a whisper. 

She had marked 
The silent youth, and with a beauty's eye 
Knew well she was beloved, and though her light 
And bounding spirit still was wild and gay, 
And sporting in the revel, yet her hours 
Of solitude were visited by him, 
Who looked with such deep passion. She too 
loved, 



A TALE. 215 

And saw more in his melancholy eye, 
And in the delicate form, and the still look, 
And that high front of intellect, which crowned 
Features that were all tenderness and love, 
Like the fair shrine of poesy, where thoughts 
Dwelt high and solemn, such as from their seat 
Of glory visit none, but the great few, 
Whose language is immortal — there she saw 
More that had charms to win her, than in all 
The light unmeaning swarm, who fawned, and 

danced, 
And played their tricks in envious rivalry, 
Happy to draw from her one scornful smile. 

She loved him with a true and early love, 
And with her tenderness there was a sense 
Of awe, when, on those magic eyes she gazed, 
Which seemed to lock on spirits, not on men. 
Still, in her innocent cheerfulness, she sought 
To lead him from his solitary haunts, 
And throw bright smiles upon that shaded brow, 
And light that eye to rapture from its deep 
And mute abstraction. So she laughed and sung, 
And called him to the dance ; but with a gush 
Of feeling irresistible, he stole 
Aside and wept. Again he sought her ear, 
And told her his fond tale. First she looked cold, 
And o'er her forehead curled a playful frown ; 
Then suddenly, and with a few light words, 
She scornfully turned from him, and enjoyed 
The moment of her triumph — it was short, 
For with a firm, fixed look, in which were seen 
More thoughts of grief than anger, he drew back, 
And casting one proud farewell glance, that told 
There was no after hope, he turned away, 
And soon was gone, an exile, none knew where. 

He wandered to another land, and found 



214 A TALE. 

New friends, who sought to cheer him; but a 

weight 
Hung on his heart, and would not be removed ; 
The feeling of regret and injury, 
The love that will not perish, and the pride 
That quenches love, but does not make it hate ; 
The fondness that will steal at times, and melt 
The heart to tears, and then the sudden pang 
Of long-remembered scorn, which freezes fast 
The' fountain in its flow, and leaves the cold 
Dim glare of one, whose only hope is death. 

He was in happy regions, and the sky 
Above him was most beautiful ; its blue 
Was higher and intenser, and it took 
The spirit on a journey into Heaven, 
And made it more than mortal : cool, soft gales 
Stole from a peaceful ocean, whose bright waves 
Rolled gently on to music, and they blew 
Through woven trellices of all-sweet flowers, 
And sported round long wreaths of festooned vines 
Hung with the gayest blossoms, and o'er beds 
That breathed in mellowest airs of balm and myrrh. 
Music was in those bowers, and Beauty there 
Crowded in mystic dances, and their nights 
"Were consecrated to the skilful sounds 
Of a most witching harmony, to choirs 
Such as once moved in Athens to the voice 
Of flutes and timbrels. Many an eye was bent 
Full on the noble stranger, and they sought 
To win his smile; but yet he would not smile, 
For all his better thoughts were far away. 
And when he looked upon the lovely ones 
Around him, it recalled with keener sense, 
Her, who to him was lovelier, whom he loved, 
But would not in his bitterness forgive. 

When it was tcld her that the youth had fled, 



XiGHT WATCHING. 211 

And fled in anger, then her look was changed, 
And never more her steps were in the dance, 
Nor were the cheerful sounds of her sweet voice 
Heard in the crowd of revellers. Alone 
She wept the folly which had thrown away 
The only treasure she had truly loved, 
And left her in the fairest of her days, 
The very spring-time of her loveliness, 
Only to think of what had been, and grieve. 



NIGHT WATCHING. 

She sat beside her lover, and her hand 
Rested upon his clay-cold forehead. Death 
Was calmly stealing o'er him, and his life 
Went out by silent flickerings, when his eye 
Woke up from its dim lethargy, and cast * 
Bright looks of fondness on her. He was weak, 
Too weak to utter all his heart. His eye 
Was now his only language, and it spake 
How much he felt her kindness, and the love 
That sat, when all had fled, beside him. Night 
Was far upon its watches, and the voice 
Of Nature had no sound. The pure blue sky 
W^as fair and lovely, and the many stars 
Looked down in tranquil beauty on an earth 
That smiled in sweetest summer. She looked out 
Through the raised window, and the sheeted bay 
Lay in a quiet sleep below, and shone 
With the pale beam of midnight — air was still, 
And the white sail, that o'er the distant stream 
Moved with so slow a pace, it seemed at rest, 



216 NIGHT WATCH. 

Fixed in the glassy" water, and with care 
Shunned the dark den of pestilence, and stole 
Fearfully from the tainted gale that breathed 
Softly along the crisping wave — that sail 
Hung loosely on its yard, and as it flapped, 
Caught moving undulations from the light, 
That silently came down, and gave the hills, 
And spires, and walls, and roofs, a tint so pale, 
Death seemed on all the landscape — but so still, 
Who would have thought that any thing but peace 
And beauty had a dwelling there ! The world 
Had gone, and life was not within those walls, 
Only a few, who lingered faintly on, 
Waiting the moment of departure ; or 
Sat tending at their pillows, with a love 
So strong it mastered fear — and they were few, 
And she was one — and in a lonely house, 
Far from all sight and sound of living things, 
She watched the couch of him she loved, and drew 
Contagion from the lips that were to her 
Still beautiful as roses, though so pale 
They seemed like a thin snow curl. All was still, 
And even so deeply hushed, the lovr -f«mt breath 
That trembling gasped away, came through the 

night, 
As a loud sound of awe. She passed her hand 
Over those quivering lips, that ever grew 
Paler and colder, as the only sign 
To tell her life still lingered — it went out ! 
And her heart sank within her, when the last 
Weak sigh of life was over, and the ioom 
Seemed like a vaulted sepulchre, so lone 
She dared not look around : and the light wind, 
That played among the leaves and flowers that grew 
Still freshly at her window, and waved back 
The curtain with a rustling sound, to her, 



NIGHT WATCHING. £17 

In her intense abstraction, seemed the voice 

Of a departed spirit. Then she heard, 

At least in fancy heard, a whisper breathe 

Close at her ear, and tell her all was done, 

And her fond loves were ended. She had watched 

Until her love grew manly, and she checked 

The tears that came to flow, and nerved her heart 

To the last solemn duty. With a hand 

That trembled not, she closed the fallen lid. 

And pressed the lips, and gave them one long kiss, 

Then decently spread over all a shroud ; 

And sitting with a lock of lingering love 

Intense in tearless passion, rose at length, 

And pressing both her hands upon her brow, 

Gave loose to all her gushing grief in showers, 

Which, as a fountain sealed till it had swelled 

To its last fulness, now gave way and flowed 

In a deep stream of sorrow. She grew calm, 

And parting back the curtains, looked abroad 

Upon the moonlight loveliness, all sunk 

In one unbroken silence, save the moan 

From the lone room of death, or the dull sound 

Of the slow-moving hearse. The homes of men 

Were now all desolate, and darkness there, 

And solitude and silence took their seat 

In the deserted streets, as if the wing 

Of a destroying angel had gone by, 

And blasted all existence, and had changed 

The gay, the busy, and the crowded mart 

To one cold, speechless city of the dead ! 



LOVE AT EVENING. 

It was the hour of moonlight — and the bells 

Had rung their curfew tones, and they were still ; 

The echo died around the distant hill, 

Sinking in faint and fainter falls and swells, 

Accordant with the fitful wind, that blew 

Over the new mown meadow, where the dew 

Stood twinkling on the closely shaven stems, 

Glittering as 'twere a carpet sown with gems ; 

And from the winding river there arose 

A mist, that curled in volumed folds, and gave 

A snowy mantle to the stealing wave, 

Like that which fancy, love-enchanted, throws 

Over the form it doats on, with a feeling 

Of most endeared fondness, blind to all, 

That is not light and loveliness, concealing 

The tints of weakness with a darkest pall : 

And as the moon descending on the cloud, 

Gives it a rainbow livery, and hues 

All softness and all beauty, so imbues 

The fond eye of affection with all charms 

The image of its awe ; and he is proud, 

Aye, prouder than the proudest, when his arms 

Around that form of loveliness are flung, 

And when those melting eyes are on him hung, 

And when those lips are moving in sweet tones, 

That tell, whate'er the words be, that she owns 

No other for her love — and then the sigh 

Struggles within her bosom, and her eye 

Is wet with rising tears, and then the smile 

Plays sweetly on her parting lips awhile, 

And then she hangs upon his arm, and tells, 

Her heart how happy — and that fond heart swells 



SILENT SHE STOOD BEFORE ME. 219 

To give its feelings utterance, and she sings 
Sweetly, as when the lark at morning springs 
From out a dewy thicket, and away 
Winnows his easy flight to meet the day ; 
And thus their eyes are blended, and they gaze 
A moment on each other, and then turn 
To where the countless fires of ether burn, 
And look from Heaven with soft and soothing 

rays; 
A moment with uplifted brow they pour 
The swelling current of devotion o'er, 
And then descending from that upward flight, 
Again their eyes in tender looks unite, 
Again they speak in under tones, as still 
As are the winds that rustle on the hill, 
Then side by side, in links of fondness prest, 
Steal silently unto their hallowed rest. 



SILENT SHE STOOD BEFORE ME. 

Silent she stood before me, in the light 
And majesty of beauty ; and her eye 
Was teeming with the visions of her soul — 
She stood before me in a veil of white, 
The image of her bosom's purity, 
And loveliness enveloped her, as bright, 
\s when, at set of sun, the clouds unrol, 
Pavilioning the dusky throne of night. 
Theie is a spirit in the kindling glance 
Of pure and lofty beauty, which doth quell 
Each darker passion ; and, as heroes fell 
Before the terror of Minerva'* lance, 



220 STAR OF THB PENSIVE. 

So beauty, armed with virtue, bows the soul 
With a commanding, but a sweet control ; 
Making the heart all holiness and love, 
And lifting it to worlds that shine above, 
Until subdued, we humbly bend before 
The idol of our worship to adore. 



STAR OF THE PENSIVE. 

Star of the pensive ! " melancholy Star/* 
That, from the bosom of the deep ascending, 
Shines on the curling waves, like mourner bend- 
ing 
Over the ruins of the joys that were ; 
Or lone deserted mother sweetly tending 
Her hushed babe in its cradle, often blending 
Her plaintive song and sigh repressed — sweet star ! 
I love the eye that looks on me so far 
From all this want, and wretchedness, and woe, 
From out that home of pure serenity 
Above the winds and clouds — when tempests blow, 
The sailor through the darkness looks to thee — 
Thou art the star of love, and fond hearts gaze 
With feeling awe upon thy trembling rays, 
And dream that other eyes are resting there ; 
And O ! what light around the bosom plays, 
When dwelling on the beautiful and fair, 
We think that eyes beloved those beauties share. 



Ol THERE IS A BLISS IN TEARS. 

*• O ! there is a bliss in tears"— in tears, that 
flow 
From out a heart, where tender feelings dwell, 
That heaveth, with involuntary swell 
Of joy or grief, for others' weal or woe — 
The highest pleasures fortune can bestow, 
The proudest deeds that victory can tell, 
The charms that beauty weaveth in her spell, 
These holy, happy tears how far below : 
Yes, I would steal me from life's gaudy show, 
And seek a covert in a silent shade, 
And where the cheating lights of being glow, 
See glory after glory dimly fade, 
And knowing all my brighter visions o'er, 
Deep in my bosom's core my sorrows lay, 
And thence the fountains of i-epentance pour, 
Gush after gush, in purer streams away. 



LIGHT OF LOVE. 

Fair, as the first blown rose — but O ! as fleeting, 

Soft, as the down upon a cygnet's breast, 

Sweet, as the air, when gales and flowers are meet - 

Bright, as the jewel on a sultan's vest ; 
Dear, as the infant smiling when caressed, 
Mild as the wind, at dawn in April, blowing, 
Calm, as the innocent heart — and O ! as blest, 
Pure, as the spring from mountain granite flowing, 



222 LIGHT OF LOVE. 

Gay, as the tulip in it starred bed glowing, 
As clouds, that curtain round the west at even, 
O'er earth a canopy of glory throwing, 
And heralding the radiant path to heaven. 

Sweet, as the sound, when waves, in calm, retreat- 
ing, 
Roll back, in gurgling ripples from the shore, 
When in the curling well still waters meeting, 
Clear, from the spout, the molten crystal pour ; 
Sweet, as at distance heard the cascade's roar, 
Or ocean on the lone rock faintly dashing, 
Or dying thunders, when the storm is o'er, 
And dim seen lightnings far away are flashing ; 
Sweet, as when spring is garlanding the trees, 
The birds in all the flush of life are singing, 
And as the light leaves twinkle in the breeze, 
The woods with melody and joy are ringing, 
"When beds of mint and flowering fields of clover 
Are redolent of nature's balmiest store, 
And the cool wind, from rivers, hurries over 
And gathers sweets, that Hybla never bore. 

Fair, as the cloudless moon o'er night presiding, 
When earth, and sea, and air are hushed and still, 
Along the burning dome of nature riding, 
Crowning with liquid lustre rock and hill, 
Pencilling with her silver beam the rill, 
That o'er the wave-worn marble falling plays, 
Sheeting with light the cascade at the mill, 
And paving ocean with her tremulous rays, 
Through the closed lids of dewy violets stealing, 
And gemming, with clear drops, the mead and 

grove ; 
Such is the light, the native heart of feeling 
Throws round the stainless object of his love. 



THE GREEK EMIGRANT'S SONG. 

Now launch the boat upon the wave— 
The wind is blowing off the shore — 
I will not live, a cowering slave, 
In these polluted islands, more — 
Beyond the wild, dark-heaving sea, 
There is a better home for me. 

The wind is blowing off the shore, 
And out to sea the streamers fly— 
My music is the dashing roar 
My canopy the stainless sky- 
It bends above so fair a blue, 
That Heaven seems opening on my view. 

I will not live, a cowering slave, 
Though all the charms of life may shine 
Around me, and the land, the wave, 
And sky be drawn in tints divine — 
Give lowering skies and rocks to me, 
If there my spirit can be free. 

Sweeter, than spicy gales, that blow 
From orange groves with wooing breath, 
The winds may from these islands flow — » 
But 'tis an atmosphere of death ; 
The lotus, which transformed the brave 
And haughty to a willing slave. 

Softer, than Minder's winding stream, 
The wave may ripple on this coast ; 
And brighter than the morning beam, 
In golden swell, be round it tost — 
Give me a rude and stormy shore, 
So power can never threat me mor«, 



224 CONSUMPTION". 

Brighter than all the tales, they tell 
Of eastern pomp and pageantry, 
Our sunset skies in glory swell, 
Hung round with glowing tapestry— 
The horrors of a wintry storm 
Swell brighter o'er a freeman's form. 

The spring may here with autumn twine, 
And both combined may rule the year, 
And fresh-blown flowers and racy wine 
In frosted clusters still be near — 
Dearer the wild and snowy hills, 
Where hale and ruddy freedom smiles. 

Beyond the wild, dark -heaving sea, 

And ocean's stormy vastness o'er, 

There is a better home for me, 

A welcomer and dearer shore ; 

There hands, and hearts, and souls, are twined, 

And free the man, and free the mind. 



CONSUMPTION. 

There is a sweetness in woman's decay, 
When the light of beauty is fading away, 
When the bright enchantment of youth is gone, 
And the tint that glowed, and the eye that shone. 
And darted around lis glance of power, 
And the lip that vied with the sweetest flower, 
That ever in Passtum's* garden blew, 
Or ever was steeped in fragrant dew, 

* Biferique roiaria Poesti.— Virg. 



CONSUMPTION. 225 

When all that was bright and fair, is fled, 
But the loveliness lingering round the dead.* 

O ! There is a sweetness in beauty's close, 
Like the perfume scenting the withered rose ; 
For a nameless charm around her plays, 
And her eyes are kindled with hallowed rays, 
And a veil of spotless purity 
Has mantled her cheek with its heavenly dye, 
Like a cloud whereon the queen of night 
Has poured her softest tint of light ; 
And there is a blending of white and blue, 
Where the purple blood is melting through 
The snow of her pale and tender cheek ; 
And there are tones, that sweetly speak 
Of a spirit, who longs for a purer day, 
And is ready to wing her flight away. 

In the flush of youth and the spring of feeling, 
When life, like a sunny stream, is stealing 
Its silent steps through a flowery path, 
And all the endearments, that pleasure hath, 
Are poured from her full, o'erflowing horn, 
When the rose of enjoyment conceals no thorn, 
In her lightness of heart, to the cheery song 
The maiden may trip in the dance along, 
And think of the passing moment, that lies, 
Like a fairy dream, in her dazzled eyes, 
And yield to the present, that charms around 
With all that is lovely in sight and sound, 
Where a thousand pleasing phantoms flit, 
With the voice of mirth, and the burst of wit, 
And the music that steals to the bosom's core, 
And the heart in its fulness flowing o'er 
With a few big drops, that are soon repressed, 
For short is the stay 01 grief in her breast ; 
K 2 



226 CONSUMPTION. 

In this enlivened and gladsome hour 

The spirit may burn with a brighter power ; 

But dearer the calm and quiet day, 

When the Heaven -sick soul is stealing away, 

And when her sun is low declining, 

And life wears out with no repining, 

And the whisper, that tells of early death, 

Is soft as the west wind's balmy breath, 

When it comes at the hour of still repose, 

To sleep in the breast of the wooing rose ; 

And the lip, that swelled with a living glow, 

Is pale as a curl of new-fallen snow ; 

And her cheek, like the Parian stone, is fair, 

But the hectic spot that flushes there, 

When the tide of life, from its secret dwelling, 

In a sudden gush, is deeply swelling, 

And giving a tinge to her icy lips, 

Jjike the crimson rose's brightest tips, 

As richly red, and as transient too, 

As the clouds in autumn's sky of blue, 

That seem like a host of glory met 

To honour the sun at his golden set : 

O ! then, when the spirit is taking wing, 

How fondly her thoughts to her dear one cling, 

As if she would blend her soul with his 

In a deep and long imprinted kiss; 

So fondly the panting camel flies, 

Where the glassy vapour cheats his eyes, 

And the dove from the falcon seeks her. nest, 

And the infant shrinks to its mother's breast. 

And though her dying voice be mute, 

Or faint as the tones of an unstrung lute, 

And though the glow from her cheek be fled, 

And her pale lips cold as the marble dead, 






TO THE HOUSTONIA CKRULEA. 227 

Her eye still beams unwonted fires 
With a woman's love and a saint's desires, 
And her last fond, lingering look is given 
To the love she leaves, and then to Heaven, 
As if she would bear that love away 
To a purer world and a brighter day. 



TO THE HOUSTONIA CERULEA.* 

How often, modest flower, 
I mark thy tender blossoms, where they spread, 
Along the turfy slope, their starry bed, 
Hung heavy with the shower. 

Thou comest in the dawn 
Of nature's promise, when the sod of May 
Is speckled with its earliest array, 
And strewest with bloom the lawn. 

'Tis but a few brief days, 
I saw the green hill in its fold of snow ; 
But now thy slender stems arise, and blow 
In April's fitful rays. 

I love thee, delicate 

And humble, as thou art ; thy dress of white, 
And blue, and all the tints where these unite, 
Or wrapped in spiral plait, 



* A very delicate and humble flower of New-England, 
blossoming early in spring, and often covering large patches 
of turf with a white or pale blue carpet. The botanical allu- 
sions in this piece, perhaps, will not be fully relished by those 
who have not examined the structure of the flower. 



228 TO THE HOUSTONIA CERl'LEA. 

Or to the glancing sun, 

Shining through chequered cloud, and dewy shower 
Unfolding thy fair cross. Yes, tender flower, 
Thy blended colours run, 

And meet in harmony, 

Commingling, like the rainbow tints ; thy urn 

Of yellow rises with a graceful turn, 

And as a golden eye, 

Its softly swelling throat 
Shines in the centre of thy circle, where 
Thy downy stigma rises slim and fair, 
And catches as they float, 

A cloud of 'living air, 
The atom seeds of fertilizing dust, 
That hover, as thy lurking anthers burst ; 
And O ! how purely there 

Thy snowy circle, rayed 

With crosslets, bends its pearly whiteness round, 
And how thy spreading lips are tnmly bound, 
With such a mellow shade 

As in the vaulted blue, 
Deepens at starry midnight, or grows pale, 
When mantled in the full-moon's silver veil, 
Thai calm ethereal hue. 

I love ihee, modest flower ! 
And I go find it happiness to tread, 
With careful step, along thy studded bed* 
At morning's freshest hour, 

Or when the day declines, 

And evening comes with dewy footsteps on, 



THE COB At GROYE. 229 

And now his golden hall of slumber won, 
The setting sun resigns 

His empire of the sky, 

And the cool breeze awakes her fluttering train— 
I walk through thy parterres, and not in vain, 
For to my downward eye ? 

Sweet flower ! thou tellest how hearts 
As pure and tender as thy leaf, as low 
And humble as thy stem, will surely know 
The joy that peace imparts. 



THE CORAL GROVE. 

Deep in the wave is a coral grove, 

Where the purple mullet, and gold-fish rove, 

Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, 

That never are wet with falling dew, 

But in bright and changeful beauty shine, 

"Far down in the green and glassy brine. 

The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, 

And the pearl shells spangle the flinty snow ; 

From coral rocks the sea plants lift 

Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow ; 

The water is calm and still below, 

For the winds and waves are absent there, 

And the sands are bright as the stars that glow 

In the motionless fields of upper air : 

There with its waving blade of green, 

The sea-fiag streams through the silent water, 

And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 



250 STANZAS. 

To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter : 

There with a light and easy motion, 

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea ; 

And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean, 

Are bending like corn on the upland leai 

And life, in rare and beautiful forms, 

Is sporting amidst those bowers of stone, 

And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms 

Has made the top of the wave his own : 

And when the ship from his fury flies, 

Where the myriad voices of ocean roar, 

When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, 

And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; 

Then far below in the peaceful sea, 

The purple mullet and gold-fish rove, 

Where the waters murmur tranquilly, 

Through the bending twigs of the coral grove. 



STANZAS. 

A Tulip blossomed, one morning in May, 

By the side of a sanded alley ; 

It leaves were dressed in a rich array, 

Like the clouds at the earliest dawn of day, 

When the mist rolls over the valley : 

The dew had descended the night before, 

And lay in its velvet bosom, 

And its spreading urn was flowing o'er, 

And the crystal heightened the tints, it bore 

On its yellow and crimson blossom. 

A sweet red-rose, on its bending thorn, 
Its bud was newly spreading*, 



STANZAS. 231 

And the flowing effulgence of early morn 
Its beams on its breast was shedding ; 
The petals were heavy with dripping tears, 
That twinkled in pearly brightness, 
And the thrush in its covert thrilled my ears 
With a varied song of lightness,, 

A lily, in mantle of purest snow, 

Hung over a silent fountain, 

And the wave in its calm and quiet flow, 

Displayed its silken leaves below, 

Like the drift on the windy mountain ; 

It bowed with the moisture the night had wept, 

When the stars shone over the billow, 

And white- winged spirits their vigils kept, 

Where beauty and innocence sweetly slept 

On its pure and thornless pillow. 

A hyacinth lifted its purple bell 

From the slender leaves around it ; 

It curved its cup in a flowing swell, 

And a starry circle crowned it ; 

The deep blue tincture, that robed it, seemed 

The gloomiest garb of sorrow, 

As if on its eye no brightness beamed, 

And it never in clearer moments dreamed 

Of a fair and a calm to-morrow. 

A daisy peeped from the tufted sod, 

In its bashful modesty drooping ; 

Where often the morn, as I lightly trod, 

In bounding youth, the fallow clod, 

Had over it seen me stooping ; 

It looked in my face with a dewy eye 

From its ring of ruby lashes, 

And it seemed that a brighter was lurking by, 



232 THE FAIREST R03E IS FAR AWA\ 

The fire;! of whose ebony lustre fly, 
Like summer's dazzling flashes. 

And the wind, with a soft and silent wing, 

Brushed over this wild of flowers, 

And it wakened the .birds, who began to sing 

Their hymn to the season of love and spring, 

In the shade of the bending bowers ; 

And it culled their full nectareous store, 

In its lightly fluttering motion, 

As when from Hybla's murmuring shore 

The evening breeze from her thyme-beds bore 

Their sweetness over the ocean. 



THE FAIREST KOSE IS FAR AWA\ 

The morn is blinking o'er the hills 
"With softened light and colours gay ; 
Through grove and valley sweetly trills 
The melody of early day ; 
The dewy roses blooming fair 
Glitter around her father's ha*, 
But still my Mary is not there— 
The fairest rose is far awa\ 

The cooling zephyrs gently blow 
Along the dew-bespangled mead— • 
In every field the owsen low— 
The careless shepherd tunes his reed— 
And while the roses blossom fair, 
My lute with softly dying fa* 
Laments that Mary is not there — 
The fairest rose :s far awa\ 



STANZAS. 333 

The thrush is singirg on the hills, 
And charms the groves that wave around, 
And through the vale the winding rills 
Awake a softly murmuring sound ; 
The robin tunes his mellow throat 
Where glittering roses sweetly blaw, 
But grieves that P»iary hears him not— 
The fairest rose is far awa'. 

Why breathe thy melody in vain 
Thou lovely songster of the morn— 
Why pour thy ever-varying strain 
Amid the sprays of yonder thorn- 
Do not the roses blooming fair, 
At morning's dawn or evening's fa% 
Tell thee of one that is not there— 
The fairest rose that's far awa'. 



STANZAS. 

Often, when at night delaying, 
Where the winding liver flows, 
On the silent waters playing 
How the star of beauty glows ; 
In the clear wave brightly sparkling, 
Brightly as the love-lit eye, 
Now again its beams are darkling, 
As the clouds athwart it fly : 
With a soft and tender feeling 
Then I whisper out my song, 
While the mellow brook h stealing 
Silently the sand along. 



234 STANZAS. 

There is in that twinkling planet 
More than all the stars can boast. 
And my fond eye loves to scan it, 
Like a light-house on a coast, 
s Where the budding spring is ever 
Pranking out her wooing bowers, 
And the locks of beauty never 
Float without a crown of flowers ; 
And her eye is ever straying 
Round and round with kindling beam, 
Like her own bright planet playing 
Sweetly on the silent stream. 

Now the star is near the mountain 
Slowly setting in the west, 
Shining on a crisping fountain, 
Or a lakelet's ruffled breast ; 
Now its maiden brightness mingles 
With the mist that hovers there, 
Rising from the woody dingles, 
Like a streaming tress of hair. 

Now a form is imaged round it, 

'Tis the form that I adore, 

Every charm of earth has crowned it, 

Fairer beauty never wore': 

O ! how dear that tender feeling, 

When the rays of beauty play, 

Where the mellow brook is stealing, 

Lighted by the moon, away. 



SON0. 

O ! pure is the wind, 

As it blows o'er the mountain ; 

And clear is the wave, 

As it flows from the fountain ; 

And sweet are the flowers 

In the green meadow blooming ; 

And gay are the bowers, 

"When the soft air perfuming. 

O ! go, dearest, go 
To the heath and the mountain, 
Where the blue violets blow 
On the brink of the fountain ; 
Where nothing, but death, 
Our affection can sever; 
And till life's latest breath 
Love shall bind us for ever. 

O ! bright is the morn, 
When it breaks on the valley ; 
And shrill is the horn, 
When the wild huntsmen sally ; 
And clear shines the dew, 
As the hounds hurry o'er it ; 
And light blows the wind, 
As the sail flies before it. 
O ! go, dearest, go, &c. 

O ! soft is the mist, 

When it curls round the island ; 

And dark is the cloud, 

As it hangs on the highland ; 

And sweet chimes the rill, 

O'er the white pebble flowing ; 



230 IONG. 

And quick glides the boat 
O'er the smooth water rowing. 
O ! go, dearest, go, &c. 

O ! fleet is the deer 
Through the blue heather springing ; 
And loud is the shout 
Through the wild valley ringing ; 
And soft is the flute 
O'er the lake faintly sighing, 
When the wide air is mute, 
And the night-wind is dying. 
O ! go, dearest, go, &c. 

O ! go, dearest, go 
To the heath and the mountain j 
Where the heart shall be pure, 
As the clear-flowing fountain ; 
Where the soul shall be free, 
As the winds that blow o'er us ; 
And the sunset of life 
Smile in beauty before us, 

O ! go, dearest, go 
To the heath, and the mountain, 
Where the blue violets blow 
On the brink of the fountain ; 
Where nothing, but death, 
Our affection can sever ; 
And till life's latest breath 
X^ove shall bind us for ever. 



THE LAND OF THE BLES1*. 

The sunset is calm on the face of the deep, 
And bright is the last look of day in the west, 
And broadly the beams of its parting glance sweep, 
Like the path that conducts to the land of the 

blest ; 
All golden and green is the sea, as it flows 
In billows just heaving its tide to the shore ; 
And crimson and blue is the sky, as it glows 
With the colours which tell us that day-light is 

o*er. 

I sit on a rock, that hangs oyer the wave, 

And the foam heaves and tosses its snow-wreaths 

below, 
And the flakes, gilt with sunbeams, the flowing 

tide pave, 
Like the gems that in gardens of sorcery grow : 
I sit on the rock, and I watch the light fade 
Still fainter and fainter away in the west, 
And I dream, I can catch, through the mantle of 

shade, 
A glimpse of the dim, distant land of the blest. 

And I long for a home in that land of the soul, 
Where hearts always warm glow with friendship 

and love, 
And days ever cloudless still cheerily roll, 
Like the age of eternity blazing above : 
There, with friendships unbroken, and loves ever 

true, 
Life flows on, one gay dream of pleasure and rest ; 
And green is the fresh turf, the sky purely blue, 
That mantle and arch o'er the land of the blest. 



238 RETROSPECTION. 

The last line of light is now crossing the sea, 
And the first star is lighting its lamp in the sky ; 
It seems that a sweet voice is calling to me, 
Like a bird on that pathway of brightness to fly : 
" Far over the wave is a green sunny isle, 
Where the last cloud of evening now shines in the 

west ; 
'Tis the island that Spring ever woes with her 

smile ; 
O ! seek it— the bright happy land of the blest.* * 



RETROSPECTION. 

There are moments in life, which are never forgot, 
Which brighten, and brighten, as time steals away ; 
They give a new charm to the happiest lot, 
And they shine on the gloom of the loneliest day : 
These moments are hallowed by smiles and by 

tears ; 
The first look of love, and the last parting given ; 
As the sun, in the dawn of his glory, appears, 
And the cloud weeps and glows with the rainbow 

in heaven. 

There are hours— there are minutes, which me- 
mory brings, 
Like blossoms of Eden, to twine round the heart ; 
And as time rushes by on the might of his wings, 
They may darken awhile, but they never depart : 
O ! these hallowed remembrances cannot decay, 
But they come on the soul with a magical thrill ; 
And in days that are darkest, they kindly will stay, 
And the heart, in its last throb, will beat with 
them still. 



RETROSPECTION. 239 

They come, like the dawn in its loveliness, now, 
The same look of beauty, that shot to my soul; 
The snows of the mountain are bleached on her 

brow, 
And her eyes, in the blue of the firmament, roll : 
The roses are dim by her cheek's living bloom, 
And her coral lips part, like the opening of flowers ; 
She moves through the air in a cloud of perfume, 
Like the wind from the blossoms of jessamine 

bowers. 

From her eye's melting azure there sparkles a 

flame, 
That kindled my young blood to ecstacy's glow ; 
She speaks — and the tones of her voice are the 

same, 
As would once, like the wind-harp, in melody flow: 
That touch, as her hand meets and mingles with 

mine, 
Shoots along to my heart, with electrical thrill ; 
'Twas a moment, for earth too supremely divine, 
And while life lasts, its sweetness shall cling to me 

still. 

We met — and we drank from the crystalline well 
That flows from the fountain of science above ; 
On the beauties of thought we would silently 

dwell, 
Till we looked — though we never were talking of 

love : 
We parted — the tear glistened bright in her eye, 
And her melting hand shook, as I dropped it for 

ever; 
O ! that moment will always be hovering by, 
Life may frown — but its light shall abandon me — 
never. 



HERE THE AIR IS SWEET. 

Here the air is sweet, 

Fresh from the roses newly blowing; 

Here the waters meet, 

Down the grassy valley flowing ; 

Here the bands of ivy twine, 

Here the bells in yellow shine 

On the flowering gelsemine, 

Round the woven trellice growing. 

Here the flitting breeze 

Wafts afar the musky treasure, 

And the wanton bees 

Sip the honied fount of pleasure ; 

Here the loving spirits dwell, 

Here they sit, and weave their spell, 

And within the blossom's bell 

Here the wind is balm, 

Laden with the breath of roses ; 

Plere the air is calm, 

And the sleeping noon-flower closes ; 

Now the sun is setting bright, 

And his arch of purple light 

Heralding the summer night, , 

Earth in dreams of bliss reposes. 

Here's a magic bower — 

O'er it budding vines are creeping, 

And a dewy shower, 

By a bank of tu f is steeping ; 

Though the fallen winds are mute, 

Faintly from the sweet-blown flute, 

Tones, that with the stillness suit, 

Harmonies of love are keeping. 



Ml 



I am here alone — 

Far has fled my flowery dreaming 

All its beauty flown 

Like a bow by moonlight gleaming j 

Fancy's day of love is o'er, 

All its rich and golden store 

Ne'er can charm my spirit more, 

With its false, but fairy seeming. 



HOME. 



There is a spot — a quiet spot, which blooms' 
On earth's cold, heartless desert— It hath power 
To give a sweetness to the darkest hour, 
As, in the starless midnight, from the rose, 
Now dipp'd in dew, a sweeter perfume flow* • 
And suddenly the wandVer's heart assumes 
New courage, and he keeps his course along, 
Cheering the darkness with a whisper'd song : 
At every step a purer, fresher air 
Salutes him, and the winds of morning bear 
Soft odours from the violet beds and vines ; 
And thus he wanders, till the dawning shines 
Above the misty mountains, and a hue 
Of vermeil blushes on the cloudless blue, 

Like health disporting on the downy cheek 

It is time's fairest moment— as a dove 
Shading the earth with azure wings of love. 
The sky broods o'er us, and the cool winds speak 
The peace of nature, and the waters fail, 
From leap to leap, more sweetly musical, 
L 



L'4'2 HOME. 

And, from the cloudy bosom of the vale, 
Come, on the dripping pinions of the gale, 
The simple melody of early birds 
Wooing their mates to love, the low of herds, 
And the faint bleating of the new-born lambs 
Pursuing, with light-bounding step, their dams ; 
Again the shepherd's whistle, and the bark, 
That shrilly answers to his call ; and hark ! 
As o'er the trees the golden rays appear, 
Bursts the last joyous song of chanticleer, 
Who moves, in stately pomp, before his train, 
Till from his emerald neck, and burnish 'd wings, 
The playful light a dazzling beauty flings, 
As if the stars had lit their fires again — 
So sweetly, to the wand'rer o'er the plain, 
The rose, the jessamine, and every flower, 
That spreads its leafets in the dewy hour, 
And catches, in its bell, night's viewless rain, 
In temper'd balm their rich aroma shower; 
And with this charm the morning, on his eye, 
Looks from her portals in the eastern sky, 
And throws her blushes o'er the sleeping earth, 
And wakes it to a fresh and lovely birth — 
<) ! such a charm adorns that fairest spot, 
Where noise and revelry disturb me not, 
But all the spirits, that console me, come, 
And o'er me spread a peaceful canopy, 
Vnd stand with messages of kindness by, 
And one sweet dove, with eyes that look me bless 'd, 
Sits brooding all my treasures in her nest, 
Without one slightest wish the world to roam, 
Or leave me, and that quiet dwelling — home. 



LIBERTY TO ATHENS. 

The flag of freedom floats once more 

Around the lofty Parthenon ; 
It waves, as wav'd the palm of yore. 

In days departed long and gone ; 
As bright a glory, from the skies, 

Pours down its light around those tow'rs, 
And once again the Greeks arise, 

As in their country's noblest hours ; 
Their swords are girt in virtue's cause, 

Minerva's sacred hill is free — 
O ! may she keep her equal laws, 

While man shall live, and time shall be. 

The pride of all her shrines went down ; 

The Goth, the Frank, the Turk, had reft 
The laurel from her civic crown ; 

Her helm by mar;r a sword was cleft : 
She lay among her ruins low — 

Where grew the palm, the cypress rose, 
And crush'd and bruis'd by many a blow, 

She cow'r'd beneath her savage foes ; 
But now again she springs from earth. 

Her loud, awakening trumpet speaks ; 
She rises in a brighter birth, 

And sounds redemption to the Greeks. 

It is the classic jubilee — 

Their servile years have roll'd away; 
The clouds that hover* d o'er them flee, 

They hail the dawn of freedom's day : 
From heaven the golden light descends, 

The times of old are on the wing, 
And glory there her pinion bends, 

And beauty wakes a fairer spring : 






244 LIfiEKTY TQ ATHjNJv 

The hills of Greece, her rocks, her wares, 
Are all in triumph's pomp array'd ; 

A light that points their tyrants' graves, 
Plays round each bold Athenian's blade* 

The Parthenon, the sacred shrine, 

Where wisdom held her pure abode : 
The hill of Mars, where light divine 

Proclaim'd the true, but unknown God ; 
"Where justice held unyielding sway, 

And trampled all corruption down, 
And onward took her lofty way 

To reach at truth's unfading crown : 
The rock, where liberty was full, 

Where eloquence her torrents roll'd, 
And loud, against the despot's rule, 

A knell the patriot's fury toll'd : 
The stage, whereon the drama spake, 

In tones, that seem'd,the words of heav'n, 
Which made the wretch in terror shake, 

As by avenging furies driv'n ; 
The groves and gardens, where the fire 

Of wisdom, as a fountain, burn'd, 
And every eye, that dar'd aspire 

To truth, has long in worship turn'd : 
The halls and porticoes, where trod 

The moral sage, severe, unstain'd, 
And where the intellectual God 

In all the light of science reign'd : 
The schools, where rose in symmetry 

The simple, but majestic pile, 
Where marble threw its roughness by, 

To glow, to frown, to weep, to smile ; 
Where colours made the canvass live, 

Where music roll'd her flood along, 
And all the charms, that art can give, 

Were blent with beauty, love, and song : 



EVENING. 24$ 

The port, from whose capacious worn!) 

Her navies took their conquering road, 
The heralds of an awful doom 

To all, who would not kiss her rod : 
On these a dawn of glory springs, 

These trophies of her brightest fame j 
Away the Jong-ehain'd city flings 

Her weeds, her shackles, and her shame ; 
Again her ancient souls awake, 

Harmodius bares anew his sword ; 
Her sons in wrath their fetters break, 

And freedom is their only lord. 



EVENING. 

Oh Evening ! thou art lovely — in thy dres* 
Of sober grey I woo thee, when thy star 
Comes o'er the hazy hills, that rise afar, 
When tender thoughts upon my spirit press, 
And with the whispering gales and fanning airs 
The quiet swelling of my bosom pairs ; 
And by the lake that lieth motionless, 
Low in the secret hollow, where the shade, 
By bending elms and drooping willows made, 
Displays its peaceful canopy, and gives 
A moving picture to the lymph below, 
Where float the sapphire sky, the clouds of snow, 
The evening streaks, and every swarm, that live* 
And murmurs in the dun air, and the leaves, 
That quiver in the breath of night, and shine 
With slowly gathered drops, and boughs that play, 
Rising and falling gently, he, who grieves 



246 TO THE MOON. 

For some deep-wounding sorrow, as is mine, 
In such a lonely shade his head may lay, 
And on the scented grass and flowers recline, 
And gaze upon the lingering light of day. 



TO THE MOON. 

Empress of Night ! I saw thee through the rack, 
That Jleec'd* the face of heaven, careering by, 
And launch again upon a cloudless sky, 
A beam of glory setting in thy track ; 
Like vessel in her course along the sea, 
Now voyaging through islands, now away 
On the wide ocean, in her liberty 
Rejoicing ; or like falcon on her wing 
Skirting the mountain shadows, as they fling 
Gloom o'er the world beneath them ; now at play, 
On broad exulting pinions, in the clear 
Blue noon vault, where nor speck nor mist appear, 
And bathing in the deepest flood of day — 
So seem'd thy round full orb to hold its flight, 
Ascending proudly to its highest throne, 
Mellowing the dun obscurity of night, 
And walking in its majesty alone ; 
Now thro' its waving veil of white clouds beaming 
With softer light, now pouring on their snow, 
Floating like heaps of foam, an iris glow ; 
Now from a narrow rift in glory streaming 
With column'd rays, as when through arches shine 
Thy beams on some loop'd wall or broken shrine, 
That prouder swell in thy uncertain gleaming ; 
And now undimm'd, unshrouded, on the high 

* I have used this word in a new sense, but easily under- 
stood, I presume. 



TO AN INFANT. J4? 

O'erbending vault of sapphire, as an eye 

Soothing the brow of heav'n, it pours abroad 

Brightness^ o'er vale and mountain, gilds the rock, 

Silvers the winding river, tips the wave 

With flowing amber, where its foam- wreaths lave 

The ocean's bulwark, seeming to unlock 

The pure and calm benignity of God. 



TO AN INFANT. 

Motherless infant, to the quiet sleep 

Of early death descending — thou wilt die, 

As others sink in slumber, and wilt lie 

Ere long within thy narrow grave — to weep 

For those, who fall like thee, befits not — tears 

Are shed on those, whom we have watch'd for years, 

Who, in our yielding hearts, have planted deep 

The rivets of affection — thou art fair, 

And pure as rock sprung fountains, where they 

well 
Beneath o'erarching roots, and scatter there 
Light bubbling dews — pale infant, thou canst tell 
Of pain, but thou art silent, for thy heart 
Is calm ; Remorse has never barb'd a dart 
To sting and tear thy vitals — for to thee 
Regret can never come, and thou wilt part 
With being, as a lock would fall from me — 
Thine eyes are clos'd, thy lip is still and pale, 
Thy cheek is deadly wan, or faintly flush'd 
With hectic gushings ; all thy cries are hush'd, 
Thy breath is silent, as the summer gale 
Stealing through wither'd roses — thou wilt die, 
And never know the thousand ills, which wait 



24$ FEMALE LOVLINJfSS. 

The fairest and the brightest, and thine eye 

No bitter tears will scald — thy early f3te 

Is dealt to thee in mercy ; thou wilt go, 

Unstain'd, unspotted, to a better state, 

And though thy scanty pilgrimage below 

Was weary, often painful, it was free 

From all those .stings which long have tortur'd me. 



FE M A tE LG VLI M ESS. 

Flower of a Southern garden ! newly blowing, 

Fair as a lily bending on its stem, 
Whose curl'd and yellow locks, in ringlets flowing, 

Need not the lustre of a diadem : 
Than all the wealth of Ind, a brighter gem ; 

Than all the pearls, that bud in Oman's sea, 
Than all the corals waving over them, 

Purer the living light that circles thee ; 
And through thy tender cheek's transparency 

The vermeil tint of life is lightly flushing, 
Or, at the faintest touch of modesty, 

In one deep crimson tide is wildly rushing ; 
Like rose leaves, when the morning's breath is 
brushing 

Away the seeds of pearl the night-cloud shed, 
So thy twin opening lips are purely blushing, 

Ripe with the softest dew and clearest red ; 
Purer, than crystal in its virgin bed, 

Than fountains bubbling in a granite cave, 
Than sheeted snow, that wraps a mountain's head, 

Or lilies glancing through a stainless wave, 
Purer the snow, that mantles o'er thy breast, 

And rests upon thy forehead — O ! with thee 



THE BROKEN HEART. 249 

/Hie hours might flit away so sweetly blest, 
That time would melt into eternity. . 

Go with me to the desert loneliness 

Of forest and of mountain — we will share 
The joys, that only purify and bless, 

And make a paradise of feeling there ; 
And daily thou shalt be more sweet and fair, 

And still shall take a more celestial hue, 
Like spirits melting in the midway air, 

Till lost and blended in the arch of blue. 
. Alone, not lonely, we will wander through 

Thickets of blooming shrubs and mantling vines, 
Happy as bees amid the summer dew, 

Or song-birds, when the fresh spring morning 
shines ; 
And when departing life shall wing its flight, 

And render back the gift that God has given, 
Be then to me a seraph form of light* 

*\ud bear my Heeling soul away to Heaven. 



THE BROKEN HEART. 

He has gone to the land, where the dead are still, 

, And mute the song of gladness ; 
He drank at the cup of grief his fill, 

And his life was a dream of madness ; 
The victim of fancy's torturing spell, 

From, hope fu darkness driven- — 
His agony was the rack oi' Hell, 
His joy the thrill of Heaven* 
L 2 



250 THE BROKEN HEART. 

He has gone to the land where the dead are cold, 

No thought will sting him — never ; 
The tomb its darkest veil has roll'd 

O'er all his thoughts for ever : 
O ! there was a light, that shone within 

The gloom that hung around him ; 
His heart was form'd to woo and win, 

But love had never crown'd him. 

He has gone to the land where the dead may rest 

In a soft, unbroken slumber — 
Where the pulse, that swell'd his anguish'd breast, 

Shall never his tortures number : 
Ah ! little the reckless witlings know, 

How keenly throb'd and smarted 
That bosom, which burn'd with a brightest glow, 

Till crushed and broken-hearted. 

He long'd to love, and a frown was all 

The cold and thoughtless gave him ; 
He sprang to Ambition's trumpet-call, 

But back they rudely drave him : 
He glow'd with a spirit pure and high, 

They call'd the feeling madness ; 
And he wept for woe with a melting eye— 

'Twas weak and moody sadness. 

He sought, with ardour full and keen, 

To rise to a noble station ; 
But repuls'd by the proud, the cold, the mean, 

He sunk in desperation ; 
They call'd him away to Pleasure's bowers, 

But gave him a poison'd chalice, 
And from her alluring wreath of flowers;, 

They glanc'd the grin of malice. 



251 



He felt that the charm of life was gone, 

That his hopes were chill'd and blasted — 
That being wearily linger'd on, 

In sadness, while it lasted : 
He turn*d to the picture fancy drew, 

Which he thought would darken never ;~ 
It fled — to the damp, cold grave, he flew, 

And he sleeps with the dead for ever ! 



STANZAS. 

Now the setting sun is glowing, 

Far along the golden sea ; 
Many an ocean wave is flowing, 

Dearest, 'tween thy home and me ; 
To my lonely bosom showing, 

I shall never meet with thee. 

Now my heart is, madly beating, 

As I linger on the west, 
Where the golden sun retreating, 

Blazes on the billow's breast ; 
Bright and fair, but O ! as fleeting, 

Was the sanile that made me blest. 

Now that orb is dimly stealing 
To his palace in the deep ; 

Homeward now the gannels wheeling, 
Oer the rolling ocean sweep : 

But in me the pang of feeling 
Time cun never lav asleep* 



252 fOXG OF THIS RLIM-KENNAR. 

Let me onward, o'er the ocean. 
Distance cannot cure ray ill ; 

Rise, ye waves, in wildest motion, 
But my heart is throbbing still ; 

Let it burn with full devotion — 
Deeper — it will sooner kill ! 



SONG OF THE REIM-KENNAR. 

Eagle of the far North- West ! 

Thou, who bear'st the thunderer's bow- 
Thou, who com'st with lightning crest, 

And with eye of swarthy glow ; 
Thou, who lashest with thy wing, 

Wild in rage, the foaming deep, 
Till the warring billows spring, 

And the upturn'd waters leap ; 
Thou, who send'st thy scream of wrath, 

Like a nation's dying cry, 
Sweeping on thy surging path, 

Like the roar of tempest, by ; 
When thy scream is wild in ire, 

When thy wing is swift as death, 
At my bidding, quench thy fire ! — 

At my bidding, hush thy breath ! 

Thou hast met the mountain pine — 

And the towering wood is low ; 
Thou hast spread those wings of thine— 

Ocean-steeds their prowess know ; 
When the bark in triumph rides 

Proudly in its press of sail, 
Lo ! thy pinions lash the tides, 

And the stoutest seamen quail : 



SONG OF THE REIM-RENNAIt. ' H53 

Where aloft the tower of might 

Crowns in pride the cloud-capt rock, 
There thou bend'st thy mad'ning flight. 

And it shivers in the shock ; 
Though the clouds before thee fly, 

Though thou rulest rock and tower— 
Thou shalt lay thy fury by, 

When thou hear'st my spell of power. 

At the uttering of rny spell, 

Faint and fall the flying deer ; 
Blood-hounds cease their mutter'd yell, 

When the mighty sound is near; 
Then the wild hawks stoop their wing, 

Then the wolves their howling hush, 
Then around the magic ring, 

Glaring fiends and goblins rush : 
Thou, who scorn'st the scream and yell 

Echoed from the midnight wreck, 
Sneering with the laugh of hell, 

As the wild waves sweep the deck ; 
Thou, who hear'st, with shouts of glee, 

Crushing roof and pillar fall — 
Thou shalt listen unto me — 

Me, who rule and conquer all. 

From thy fury on the deep, 

From thy madness on the shore, 
W r here the wailing widows weep 

Those who sink to rise no more— 
From the ravage of the wood, 

From the sweeping of the plain, 
From the swelling of the flood, 

Come, and hear my runic strain.— 
Let thy giant wing be still, 

Let the ocean cease to roar, 



254 THE PIRATE LOVER. 

Settle on that lonely hill, 

Dart thy bolt, and flash no more — 
Thou, who, from the far North -West, 

Scour'st the wild sea in thy course, 
Fold thy rapid wings in rest, 

Conquer'd by my magic force* 

Eagle of the far North -West ! 

Thou hast furl'd thy sweeping sail, 
Thou hast clos'd thy wings in rest, 

For my charm and spell prevail : 
Now I bid thee steal away, 

O'er the calmly rolling wave ; 
Go, and till I call thee, stay 

Slumbering in thy icy cave. 
Sweet and silent be thy sleep, 

On the rock beneath the pole ; 
Let thy rest be still and deep, 

Till thou feel'st my strong control : 
I can rouse thee with my spell, 

Bird of might, and bird of flame ; 
Then one word thy rage can quell, 

And thy wildest fury tame. 



THE PIRATE LOVER. 

Thou hast gone from thy lover, 

Thou lord of the sea ! 
The illusion is over 

That bound me to thee ; 
I cannot regret thee, 

Though dearest thou werf, 
Nor can I forget thee, 

Thou lord of my heart ! 



THE PIRATE LOVEB. 255 

I lov'd thee too deeply, 

To hate thee and live ; 
I am blind to the brightest, 

My country can give ; 
But I cannot behold thee 

In plunder and gore, 
And thy Minna can fold thee 

In fondness no more. 

Far over the billow 

Thy black vessel rides, 
The wave is thy pillow, 

Thy pathway the tides ; 
Thy cannon are pointed, 

Thy red flag on high, 
Thy crew are undaunted, 

But yet thou must die. 

I thought thou wert brave, 

As the sea-kings of old j 
But thy heart is a slave, 

And a vassal to gold : 
My faith can be plighted 

To none but the free ; 
Thy low heart has blighted 

My fond hopes in thee. 

I will not upbraid thee ; 

I leave thee to bear 
The shame, thou hast made thee, 

In danger and care : 
As thy banner is streaming 

Far over the sea, 
O ! my fond heart is dreaming, 

And breaking for thee. 



256 STANZAS. 

My heart thou hast broken, ' 

Thou lord of the wave ! 
Thou has left me a token 

To rest in my grave : 
Though false, mean, and cruel, 

Thou still must be dear, 
And thy name like a jewel, 

Be treasur'd up here. 



STANZAS. 

There's a valley that lies in the bosom of hills, 

Where the wind ever calmly and silently blows, 
And a stream, that collects from the mountain its 
rills, 

Over pebbles and shells in a clear current flows, 
Whose waters through meadows go stealing away, 

Reflecting the willows that grow on their brim, 
And shun, under evergreen thickets, the day, 

Where the noon -hours, when brightest, like 
twilight are dim ; 
Where the brook sleeps as still, in its ebony well, 

As the hush of a bee in the bell of a flower, 
Or the life, that is waiting to burst from its shell, 

And charm, with its melody, meadow and bower; 
Where the leaves, that are platted and woven above, 

Shut out every glimpse of the sun and the sky, 
And the flowers are as pale as a mourner in love, 

And ever are wet like the lids of her eye; 
Where sorrow forever her vigil might kttep, 

And silence be still as the dead in their grave ; 



STANZAS. 257 

Where the heart, that is rifled and broken, might 
weep, 

And mingle its tears with the motionless wave ; 
In the shade of a valley, so lonely and still, 

I could live in a quiet and fanciful dream, 
Not a wish of my heart would go over the hill, 

But life glide away, like the flow of the stream. 



STANZAS. 

The dark cloud is over, the storm flies away, 
The sun glances out at the closing of day, 
The air now is freshen' d with rain and with dew, 
And the turf shows a greener and livelier hue ; 
Tlio* day is departing, the birds are awake, 
And in full burst are merry in forest and brake ; 
The mist hovers over the fountain and rill, 
And curls in light folds on the slope of the hill ; 
The bright arch of beauty its loveliness throws 
O'er the cloud, as the west takes the tint of the rose. 

New fragrance is flowing from garden and bower, 
The flowers are all urns deeply fili'd with the 

shower, 
And their incense is rising and floating away, 
To hallow and sweeten the closing of day ; 
The lily, in purer and silkier white, 
Is gemm'd with the tenderest touches of light, 
The rose shines with deeper carnation, and breathes 
Softer balm, as the maiden her coronal wreathes, 
And brighter and clearer the round pearls, that drip 
From iu leafets to blend with the dew of her lip. 



C 25S STANZAS. 

O ! there is not a sweeter and lovelier hour, 

Than the bright sunny evening, that follows a 
shower — 

Like a hand o*er the heart-strings in tenderness 
thrown, 

It tunes every thought to the mellowest tone ; 

Then the eye flashes keen, tho' the press'd lip be 
still, 

And hand touches hand with a livelier thrill; 

Then soft words, in whispers of fondness, are flow- 
ing, 

And the cheek, with the warm flush of passion, is 
glowing ; 

There is silence and sweetness in earth and in air, 

And the spirit of love and of beauty is there. 



STANZAS. 

They gaz'd upon each other — they were young, 
In the first bloom of beauty — she was fair— . 
Around her marble neck her raven hair, 

In flowing curls and waving tresses hung ; 

There was a pensive spirit in her eye, 
Whose sparkling jet, beneath a falling lid 
Fring'd with its long dark lashes, vainly hid 

The fire of love that lit it. She would try 
To seem light-hearted, but whene'er she met 
The eye, that fix'd upon her, darkly set 

The dawning of her mirth, and deeper glow'd 
The clear carnation of her tender cheek ; 
And though she often strove to smile, and speak 

Gaily, the quiv'ring lip and accent show'd, 



SONNET. 259 

A fire was in her bosom, whose pure flame 

Nor time, nor want, nor force, could quench, or 

tame, 
But round her heart the torch would ever play, 
And eat, through hopeless years, her life away. 



I saw, on the top of a mountain high, 
A gem that shone like fire by night ; 

It seem'd a star, which had left the sky, 

And dropp'd to sleep on the lonely height : 

I climbed the peak, and I found it soon 

A lump of ice, in the clear cold moon. 

Can you its hidden sense impart ? 

'Twas a cheerful look, and a broken heart. 



SONNET. 

Again farewell — perchance a last Adieu ! 

Our meeting was in loneliness and tears, 

For life look'd frowning on my early years, 
And the bright moments of my youth were few— 
I long'd to meet a bosom, fond and true, 

Where I might find a heart, that beat with mine ; 

I imag'd out a beauty all divine, 
And there the homage of my soul 1 threw. 

Vain were those fond illusions — O ! as vain 
The light of fame, that drew my spirit on 

To climb with patient step the lofty fane, 

Whereon the brightest wreath of mind is won, 

And on the proudest height of glory gain 

The twine of bay, that crowns her chosen one. 



SONNET. 

Farewell, sad flowers, that on a desert blow, 
Farewell ! I pluck'd you from the muses* bower. 
And wove you in a garland, which an hour 
Might on my aching eye enchantment throw, — 
Your leaves are pale and wither'd, and your flow 
Of perfume wasted, your alluring power 
Has vanish'd like the fleeting April shower ; 
Too lovely flowers to spread your leaves below- 
Sweet flowers! though wither'd, all the joy I know, 
Is, when I breathe your balm, your wreath in- 
twine ; 
And earth can only this delight bestow, 

That sometimes all your loveliness is mine ; 
And then my frozen heart awhile will glow, 
Arid life have moments, in its path, divine ! 



STANZAS. 

O ! HAD I the wings of a swallow, I'd fly 

Where the roses are blossoming all the year long, 
Where the landscape is always a feast to the eye, 

And the bills of the warblers are ever in song ; 
O ! then I would fly from the cold and the snow, 

And hie to the land of the orange and vine, 
And carol the winter away in the glow, 

That rolls o'er the evergreen bow'rs of the line. 

Indeed, I should gloomily steal o'er the deep, 
Like the t;tonn T loving petrel, that skims there, 
alone ; 



STANZAS, 261 

I would take me a dear little martin to keep 
A sociable flight to the tropical zone : 

How cheerily, wing by wing, over the sea 

We would fly from the dark clouds of winter 
away, 

And for ever our song and our twitter should be, 
" To the land where the year is eternally gay." 

We would nestle awhile in the jessamine bow'rs, 

And take up our lodge in the crown of the palm, 
And live, like the bee, on its fruits and its fiow'rs, 

That always are flowing with honey and balm ; 
And there we would stay, till the winter is o'er, 

And April is chequer'd with sunshine and rain ; 
O ! then we would flit from that far-distant shore 

Over island and wave to our country again. 

How light we would skim, where the billows are 
roll'd 
Through clusters that bend with the cane and the 
lime, 
And break on the beaches in surges of gold, 

When morning comes forth in her loveliest prime: 
We would touch for a while, as we travers'd the 
ocean, 
At the islands that echo'd to Waller and Moore, 
And winnow our wings with an easier motion 
Through the breath of the cedar that blows from 
the shore. 

And when we had rested our wings, and had fed 
On the sweetness that comes from the juniper 
groves, 

By the spirit of home and of infancy led, 

We would hurrv again to the land of our loves ; 



262 STANZAS. 

And when from the breast of the ocean would 
spring, 

Far off in the distance, that dear native shore, 
In the joy of our hearts we would cheerily sing, 

" No land is so lovely, when winter is o'er." 



STANZAS. 

Beneath the pensive willow's shade, 
As evening melts in yonder sky, 

In careless ease, inglorious laid, 
My dreaming moments hover by. 

Why should the mind be rack'd with care ? 

Why should the bosom beat with pain ? 
Our hopes all end in blank despair, 

Our strife for power and wealth in vain. 

They cannot dry one trickling tear, 
They cannot hush one bursting sigh, 

They cannot quell the gloomy fear, 
Of death, or bid its phantoms fly. 

Then all in peace inglorious laid, 
At dewy evening's quiet dawn, 

O ! let me trace the mellow shade 
Advancing o'er the silent lawn. 

Without one wish beyond my lyre, 
I'd all my careless hours employ 

In music, and awake the wire 

To tones of grief, and thrills of joy. 



FAREWELL TO MY LYRE. 

Lyre of my soul ! the parting hour draws nigh, 

The hour that tears thy votary away 

The hour when death shall close my fading eye, 
And wrap in earth my cold and lifeless clay. 

I feel his icy fingers chill my heart, 

And curdle all the blood that warms my breast ; 

Charm of my darkest moments ! soon we part 

Soon shall thy chords in endless silence rest. 

What if thy sounds have charmed the coldest ear ; 
What if they breathed like melody divine — 
What if they stole the fair one's purest tear, 
Or bade the downcast eye with pleasure shine ! 

Still I must sink in Death's unbroken sleep, 
And coldly slumber 'neath the hallowed ground ; 
And thou must all thy chords in silence keep, 
Nor sweetly wake them to the feeblest sound. 

Sleep in yon cypress shade — its heavy gloom 

Becomes the awful stillness of the grave 

Rest, where above yon maiden's early tomb 
The willow's boughs in sorrow seem to wave. 

There should the fainting zephyr, whispering by, 
Awake one note along thy tuneful string, 
Oh ! be it sadder than the mourner's sigh, 
And in my ear like funeral dirges ring. 

Let not a trill of joy invade my ear, 

This gloomy hour asks nothing of delight 

Let all be like the pall that shades the bier, 
Or like the darkest canopy of night. 



264 FAREWELL TO MY LYRE. 

Let no sweet songster pour its witching spell- 
No voice of comfort to my spirit come ; 
Nought but the echo of the passing bell, 
The hollow murmur of the muffled drum. 

And yet I seem to hear thy seraph strain 
Pour like a gentle stream along the gale — 
It ceases — now its music wakes again, 
And breathes as sweetly as the turtle's wail. 

Ah, I would brush thy chords and faintly wake 
To sounds of joy thy melody awhile — 
Would charm my heart a moment ere it break, 
And gild my dying features with a smile: 

But no ! my hand refuses : 'tis but clay — 
The touch of death has withered all its powers- 
Soon will his wings my spirit waft away 
From thee — thou charmer of my darkest hours ! 

Farewell, thou lyre of sweetest minstrelsy ! 
Distraction calls, its sufferer must obey — 
The ruthless hand of dark adversity 
Has chilled my soul, and torn thy chords away : 

The mist of death, that hovers o'er my eyes, 
Withdraws thy lovely image from my view, 
Like fancy's midnight dream, th' illusion flies- 
Lyre of my soul, adieu ! a long adieu. 



ffije poetical Remains 



OF 



THE LATE HENRY DENISOX. 



33iD2capf)ical Sfcetcfj, 



i 1*0 enter upon Biography is, at all times, a hazardous uiu 
tlertaking ; and, it is candidly acknowledged, it is seldom felt 
as a want, but where great fame has been previously acquir- 
ed. Intense interest then follows naturally, as relates to the 
person— to the events of the life; and sometimes this prin- 
ple extends itself to the family in the most distant branches, 
and even to the houses in which the favoured individuals re- 
sided— Vide Biography of Johnson and Milton. But how few 
are such cases!— In the case of Henry Denison, we must, in 
the "head and front" of the humble effort which will be 
made to introduce him to the English readers acquaintance, 
acknowledge that we crave for him some reputation in ad- 
vance; and by this candour, it is hoped ill-humoured criti- 
cism and jealous scrutiny will be in some measure disarmed. 
His introducer claims for him a species of merit of no ordi- 
nary cast, for *' he has had honour in his own country," and 
this fact must be his herald. 

It is a trite remark, to be found prefixed to the biographv 
of all literary men, that the events of their lives, neither par- 
taking of the bustle of the cabinet nor the pomp of the camp, 
excite little emotion in the breasts of the great mass of man- 
kind. For the most part they hold on 

" The noiseless tenor of their way j" 
And as a soldier is known by the battles he has won, so a 
scholar is generally recognised* by the successful works he has 
produced. It may not at this place, however, be improper to 
mention, that much has been written by the personal friends 
of Mr. Denison, of which only the outlines can be inserted 
here, and in reference to the transatlantic reader, 



268 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

Henry Denison, son of Judge Gilbert Denison, was born 
at Guildford, Vermont, irLthe year 1796. One of his ances- 
tors, Colonel George Denison, arrived in Connecticut, from 
England, about 1630, and served in the early wars of the set- 
tlers, against the Indians, as Captain ; but whether from ac- 
cident or inclination, he returned to his native country, took 
a part in the wars of the first Charles, and having been 
wounded (at Edgehill), he was taken to the seat of Lord Bo- 
radel, and intermarried in that nobleman's family. Trum- 
bull makes very honourable mention of him, and Governor 
Hutchinson observes, "Denison's name ought to be perpe- 
tuated." But to our protege : Henry Denison was designed 
by his friends for the study of the law, and his early educa- 
tion received that preparatory direction. 

In November, 1812, he entered the University of Vermont, 
and soon after, his bias towards poetical composition began 
to make its appearance. He afterwards entered at Williams- 
town College. 

To the acute observer of the phenomena of the human 
mind, the following remarks, written from a law-office, will 
not appear singular ; and if they require any preface, it is 
the simple remark, that many an ardent fancy has been re- 
strictively coerced by the discipline prompted by a sense of 
duty ; and pleasure has sometimes been taken in a new course, 
little expected at first by the conscientious student. He says, 
in a letter to a friend, the venerable Judge Tyler, of Brattle- 
borough, Vermont :— 

"Neiv-York, , 1816. 

" The study of the law, I begin to feel interested in. It is 
not altogether that dry thing in which light I had always 
been accustomed to view it. I find it is not devoid of its 
beauties, allowing it the while in that particular to fall a lit- 
tie short of Homer and Virgil, Milton and Pope— yet it has 
charms that they do not possess." 

Those charms, however, did not, it seems, possess that 
permanent influence over his mind which novelty had per- 
haps excited, lu a subsequent effusion, lie thus expresses 
himself:— 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 269 

€I Well, while a father fondly dream'd his son 

Read Blackstone, Chitty, Coke on Lyttleton— 

In fancy saw him rushing to the bar, 

Arm'd in debate, begin the wordy war ; 

The credulous old man was dup'd, — whilst he, 
The faithless boy, beguil'd of minstrelsy, 
Forsook the riotous encampment, and 
Went over to the Nine, — harmonious band. 

Back on the stream of life pain'd memory goes, 

And traces here the source of countless woes : 

I struck the rock of duty with the wand 

Of disobedience trembling in my hand ; 

Whenlo! instead of crystal waves, there came, 
From the receding fissure, gall, with flame, 
Which drank, now heavy loads the heart with pain- 
Now light ascends, and fires the burning brain ! 

Ungrateful, to despise the words of those 
From whom such pure, such grand affection flows—* 
Parental love ! when perjur'd friendships flee, 
Prompt still, forsakes not in adversity. 

Why did I not endeavour to fulfil 

The better wishes of a father's will ; 

Wealth then, perhaps, and honours had been mine, 

Which now lie sacrificed at folly's shrine." 

Whether, from a view to health, or to explore a less 
crowded country, in regard to the prosecution of his legal 
studies, and the business which might be extracted from it, 
is difficult perhaps to determine ; but he embarked at New- 
York, in the winter of 1816-17, for Savannah, where he safe- 
ly arrived. 

In the winter of 18i8, he removed to Milledgeville, the 
scat of Government of the State of Georgia, where he com- 
menced the publication of a newspaper, and was about to 
adorn it by the elegant effusions of his pen— when death ar- 
rested his course. 



270 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

His youthful friends have erected in that town, to his me- 
mory, a monumental slab, bearing the following inscription : 
Beneath this Tablet 
Reposes 
All that is mortal of Henry Denison, 
Who died in Milledgeville, Georgia, Oct. 31, 1819, 
Son of the Hon. Gilbert Denison, 
And Huldah, his Wife, 
Of Brattleborough, Vermont. 
Reader— Art thou a Parent ? Think upon thy own offspring ; 
and sympathise with them : 
Art thou a good Son i Mingle thy tears with his Pa- 
rents j for he was the best of Sons : 
A Brother ? Mourn, for he was the kindest of Brothers : 
A Friend ? Sorrow, for he was the firmest of Friends : 
Does the Muse inspire thee? Grieve, for he was 
of thy kindred : 
Art thou all that is manly and upright ? Bemoan his early 
fate, for he was thy Companion : 
But if thou art a Christian, Rejoice— for Henry 
" is not dead, but sleepeth." 



3pO*IK0< 



WHY, STRANGER, WEEP! 

Why, stranger, weep] is there no breast 
Hath felt a pang as deep as thine ? 

Behold it here as lone, unbless'd, 
As desolate, — 'tis mine, 'tis mine ! 
What tho' upon this brow appears 
No furrow from the share of years 5 
And playful smiles are sometimes seen, 
They do but mock a soul within. 

For stranger, I was happy too, 

And I had friends that lov'd me well ; 

But rashly, ah ! I bade, like you, 

That happiness, those friends, farewell : 
Assassin-lips their gall have shed, 
By villain-hands this heart has bled ; 
But stranger, not a tear hath stole, 
To tell the anguish of my soul! 

Day after day, in covert bow'r, 

'Neath Georgian skies I've sat alone, 

And anxious waited the long hour 
Of balmy evenings coming on s 
A stranger, too, I've linger'd here, 
Thro' many a month and darksome year, 
With none to share my misery, 
For Georgian hearts are cold to me ! 

But there's a triumph for thee still, 
That shrinking babblers never know ; 

The valiant spirit may conceal, 

And thereby triumph o'er his wo£ : 



272 WOODVILLE. 

Who would be pitied ? every sig.fr ■ 
Draws poor commiseration's eye, 
And stranger, ev'ry tell-tale tear 
Is paltry pity's harbinger. 



WQODVILLE. 

They tell me of the villas fair, 

That on the banks of Schuylkill rise ;. 

But ev'ry charm that opens there, 
Beneath the face of Summer skies, — 
The green-sward walk thro' scenery, 
That like a bride draws ev'ry eye, 
And fruits and flow'rets ev'ry where— « 
All have I seen, and all are fair. 

But Georgia's clime delights me more; 
I would not journey north again, 

For all that art and nature pour 
Upon the fruitful land of Penn ; 
For Nature's choicest bounty lies 
Beneath the warmth of southern skies^ 
Here all the sweets of earth combine- 
Land of the orange and the pine. 

They tell me that, of lovely streams, 
The elm-bound Merrimack excels ; 

On its green brink, in fairy dreams 
Enrapt, I've sat till evening bells, 
From distant steeple, broke the chain* 
Which fancy wove and wove again ; — - 
Yes, while a boy, I vvander'd there, 
And own that eastern lands are fair.. 



THE CHRISTIAN'S REVERIE. 275 

But eastern lands may boast their groves, 
Their ocean-isles and emerald fields ; 

Our piny-woods, and turtle doves, 

And gardens where the red bird builds ; 
Our river-cane that hides the- doe, 
Our forest oak with misletoe, 
Our stately pine, and cornel tree, 
Have thousand nameless charms for me. 

O, Woodville ! wheresoever yet 

To roam shall prove my destiny — 
O, never can my soul forget 

The pleasant hours I've spent by thee ! 

The pines may no fierce lightnings rend, 

But show'rs of silver dews descend, 

And on thy sylvan boscm swell— 

Those beauties wmch I love so well. 



THE CHRISTIAN'S REVERIE. 

0,» THERE are evenings when the west 
Pours on the sky her humid breath, 

Which, curd'ling on a sun beam's breast, 

Glow amber clouds that rock to rest 
The souls of good men after death ; 
And spirits, never made to pair 
With flesh, too, come and cradle there, 
And touch their sparkling harps and sing 
Immanuel Lord ! Immanuel King ! 

And as the work of praise goes on, 

More Heaven-known add themselves to these ; 
The stars of evening, one by one, 
From day's celestial court come down, 

M2 



274 THE CHRISTIAN'S BEVE1UE. 

And mix their sphere-wrought harmonies; 
And they are there whose restless wings 
Glitter with spray of Eden-springs, — 
Bright cherubim, when the earth was born, 
That deck'd with dew the virgin morn. 

I saw with rapture, and express'd 
A love-sick wish that I were there; 

I thought Heaven, too, might have its west, 

A holier welkin of the bless'd, 

With brighter clouds and purer air ; 
Its evenjngs and its morning hours, 
And nights and days resembling ours, 
Save that of shadow there is less, 
And more, much more, of lucidness. 

There, thousand vallies meet the eye, 

Where martyrs hail their blood-bought sky ; 
On sorrow's cheek the tear is dry, 
And sorrow's breast forgets to sigh — 
Breathing the air of Paradise : 
All goodly things that mark our sphere, 
Glow in diviner beauty there ; 
The field, the silver stream, the grove, 
Swell in the breath of life and love. 

And all around 'tis praising One ! 
No harp can rest, no tongue be still ; 

The sun goes hymning to his noon, 

And seraphim, low bowing down, 
Awake the song of Zion Hill ! 
The distant vallies catch the strain, 
And echo breathes it back again, — 
So soft, so thrilling, and so sweet, 
'Twerc angel-words, where angels meet- 



IMITATION OF HOIIACE. 275 

While I behold such glories rise, 

My soul in extacy would fly ! 
Sensations new ! sweet, sweet surprise ! 
Heaven rushes on my ears, my eyes 

Are full of immortality ! 

O ! when will earthly shades be gone, 

And Heaven's broad day come pouring on? 

When shall our pilgrimage be o'er, 

And we rest on the golden shore. 



IMITATION OF HORACE. 
\Oih Ode, Book 2d. 

Embark'd on life's tempestuous stream, 
Though smooth its surface now may seem, 

Beware the storms that lour ; 
Adown the current gently glide, 
Nor rashly tempt the turbid tide, 

Nor hug the shelving shore. 

Let calm contentment gild your lot, 
Nor palace crave, nor court the cot, 

But seek the golden mean ; 
That haunted is by pallid fear, 
And this beset with sordid care, 

True peace is found between. 

Nor yet let faithless fortune's smile 
Your generous breast too soon beguile, 

Nor dread her fickle frowns, — 
The power that wakes the whirlwind's rage> 
Its idle wrath can quick assuage, 

And kindle genial suns. 



276 



Alternate seasons rule the year, 
Alternate flowers and fruits appear— 

Ev'n oceans ebb and flow ; 
Apollo, oft, the listening muse, 
In tuneful numbers fondly woos, 

Nor always bends the bow. 

5 Mong treacherous shoals by tempest driven* 
With pious trust in righteous Heaven, 

Still boldly tack and wear ; 
But when before the breeze you sail, 
Your canvas spread to catch the gale — - 

Of breakers, then, take care ! 



STANZAS. 

I've fought and bled in honour's cause, 
And for mine injur'd country's laws 

Have stood in firm array : 
I ne'er have blench'd from woe's alarm, 
JSfor quail'd beneath a foeman's arm> 

In battle's bloody day. 

For deeds of naught and sternness fam'd. 
Like lion bold, like him untam'd, 

I wound my careless way ; 
Alive alone to glorious arms, 
Reckless alike of woman's charms, 

And minstrel's heavenly lay. 

That time is pass'd — my heart unbent, 
By hostile swords at length is rent, 

Vnd love's keen anguish proves : 



TO AN ANCIENT ELM. 277 

A form endow'd 'with matchless clarms, 
My bosom rough to softness warms, 
And throbs impassion'd moves. 

High deeds of arms no more delight, 
My soul no longer burns for fight, 

Nor bounds when honour calls ; 
The fierce, the proud, the haughty sou!,? 
The spirit, spurning man's control, 

To feeble woman falls. 



TO AN ANCIENT ELM, 
On the Banks of the Connecticut, 

Where famed Connecticut's current wide 
Rolls swiftly on his freshing tide, 

To slake old ocean's thirst ; 
Of all his sylvan honours thine 
By far the residue outshine, 

The broadest, proudest, first. 

For this the woodman when he saw, 
Stay'd the sure blow, and gazed with awe 

Upon thy tow'ring height ; 
And now beneath those boughs of thine 
How sweet at noon day to recline, 

And linger there till night. 

But O ! that trunk, that leafy top, 
From which the dews of morning drop, 

Ere long shall moulder and decay ; 
That graceful ivy twining round 
Thee, too, shall tumble to the ground, 

And with thee waste away. 



The above is one of the earliest aspirations oftfic SfUse n> 
Denison. It is supposed he could not have been more than 
fifteen years of age when he penned it. 



THE MISERIES OF AUTHORS. 

Wherefore was I 
Curs' d with those large, uncircumscrib'd desires 
Of vain applause and unsubstantial fame ? 
O, that my mind had ne'er been taught to stray- 
Beyond my father's small, but happy farm ! 
Nor aught pursued, safe the poor peasant's art — 
To turn the furrow, wield the crooked scythe ; 
Or, to the pond'rous waggon, learnt to yoke 
The obedient ox — or, haply to trepan 
At mom or evening, with the treacherous hook, 
The eager nibblers of the crystal stream — 
But ah ! my mind, in fierce delirium lost, 
Disdained this sweet stupidity of life, 
And thro' the flow'ry and enchanting maze 
Of poetry ran wild.— But now those thoughts, 
Those dreams extravagant of deathless fame - 
I heedlessly behind me cast — 'tis done ! 
O, we were fools ! infatuated men, 
To hope for immortality on Earth ! 
For Shakspeare lives, and Milton ne'er shall die, 
And Homer and the Caledonian Bard, 
And deathless Virgil ! how, O, how shall we 
Attention claim, when guests like these attend 
The banquet high of immortality ? 
Who now will dare to scale th' Ardean heights 
Of Science, to the Temple of Renown, 
Almost insuperable to minds like theirs! 
Along the steep and labyrinthine path 
Which hither leads aspiring youths ! behold, 
The toiling, eager literary throng ! 
There, there is Southcy ! wild and wondrous bard ! 
And Campbell, Byron, and Montgomery ! 
How hard they strive ! what little progress make ! 
Some barclv rise— some tumble down amain— 



THE MISERIES OF AUTHORS. 279 

Some to the rambling ivy which o'erhangs 

The jutting precipice, affrighted cling ! 

Where are they now ? I see them stretch'd forlorn 

Upon oblivion's ever-sleeping lake, 

That far beneath her wat'ry desert spreads ! 

Vain bards ! again behold that steep ascent ! 

What horrid crags obstruct their toilsome march, 

What demon forms athwart their path obtrude, 

Among them ragged Poverty I view ! 

Behind gaunt Hunger yawns and must be fed ! 

And art thou, Melancholy! art thou there ? 

O, yes, I know thee by thy sallow cheek, 

Thy steadfast eye — slow step and haggard mein ! 

See how the fiends the exhausted pilgrim tear ! 

See how they strew his narrow path with thorns, 

Drop wormwood juice into his lifted cup, 

And steep in bitterness his daily bread ! 

Hate, Envy and Detraction bait his heels, 

Point at his woes and hiss with serpent tongues. 

And worse than these ! — along his direful path 

The Ciitic throng in fatal ambush lie — 

His panting sides with poison'd darts they pierce— 

Darts fledged with feathers from the raven's wing, 

And pointed with the viper's venom'd tooth ! 

Then fly like me, infatuated bards, 

This path to fame — this path of woe and death ! 

No more, no more, by mad ambition fired, 

(Like the rash youth who strove presumptuously 

To mount Apollo's car, and drive thro' heaven 

His fiery-footed team) immortal labours dare ! 



Tost cquitem scdet atra cura.— Hor. 

Why shall I leave my native soil to go 

Where strangers are ? Why labours thus my 
mind, 

To fix upon some foreign home ? ah, woe, 
Which I would flee, is sure to close behind. 

Care in attendance seldom will demur ; 
Care on board ships embarks a passenger ; 
By night with sailors walks the slippery decks, 
While hammock-sleepers dream of storms and 

wrecks ; 
With ease care mounts the sounding chariot 

wheels, 
Nor scorns to tread the tag-rag footman's heels : 
Care rocks the cradle of our infancy ; 
Care spreads the green turf o'er us when we die. 



LIFE. 

Ah, when the gentle breath of Spring comes o'er 

The harp, iEolian melody is born ; 
Child of the skies, young music smiles once more, 

Then starts and dies amidst the autumnal storm: 
Life is a lyre, and fate the winds of heaven, 
That tread upon its cords with steps uneven ; 
The zephyrs' and the breezes' downy wings 
Fan pleasures laughing on the living strings ; 
The wintry blasts that bid the lyre complain, 
Arc love rejected, penury and pain ; 
And death the awful hurricane, that rends 
Its base asunder, and its music ends. 



TO A FRIEND, 

In those uncertain transient scenes of woe, 
Where hopes and fears alternate ebb and flow * 
Where joys in prospect charm the ravish'd eye, 
But in fruition fade or wholly die ; 
Grant me the blessing of one faithful friend. 
On whom with confidence I can depend ; 
Of soul sincere, in useful knowledge wise, 
In time of grief prepared to sympathize ; 
His mind like sunshine of the brightest day, 
To glad the heart and praise each genial ray ; 
Who has no thought which friendship need conceal, 
Nor e'er for secret purpose would reveal. 

Warped by no passion, private end, nor fame, 
Alike our interests and our minds the same ; 
Who feels, and can without reserve impart, 
Each generous impulse rising in the heart. 
Ye virtuous few, of sympathetic soul, 
Whose in-bred worth all sinful thoughts control, 
As through this vale of misery we go, 
O ! may we still the sweets of friendship know ; 
Grant me ye Powers ! out of your ample store 
Health, peace, one friend — I ask no more. 



AMARYLLIS' COMPLAINT. 

O, what is it, that chases from my lids 
Sleep's balmy magic, slumber's soft repose? 

O, what is it, that watches and forbids 
Morpheus the curtains of my senses close. 



282 AMARYLLIS* COMPLAINT. 

Tell me, ye Sapphos, is il love ? endeared 
To me, hath Damon in my bosom rear'd, 
An altar to the goddess of desire, 
And kindled there a fierce unfading fire ? 
Lo, the consuming flames within me rise, — 
At once the altar and the sacrifice ! 

In vain I seek the grotto's cool retreat, 

In vain my once delightful haunts explore, 
Where spreading elms and leafy ashes tow'r, 
Whose foilage thick excludes the noon-tide heat, 
Where wild flow'rs tuft the beauteous green- 
sward o'er, 
And little daisies smile beneath my feet; 
In vain I loiter by thy pebbly bed, 
Sweet rill, thy music, all thy charms are fled ; 
For now, nor smiling daisies, wild flow'rs blowing 
On tufted sward, nor softest waters flowing, 
Not the high tow'ring elm tree's canopy, 
That spreads its green and wavy arch on high, 
Nor grot, nor sylvan haunt, that joy'd before, 
Nor all thy beauties, nature, please me more. 

Whene'er my love appears upon the plains, 
Or to the mountain drives his snowy flock, 
Or with his reed reclines beneath the rock, 
I view him noblest of the gen'rous swains, 
And feel a secret fire within my veins. 

I cull the violets from the riv'let's brink, 

And yellow cowslips nodding o'er the wave, 
Whose stems the tiny waters love to lave, . 
The roses, that the dews of morning drink, 
The gaudy tulip, and the blushing pink, 
Weaving a garland for the youth I love, 
But a]J, alas, his bosom cannot move. 



TO CECILIA. 283 

Straight from my hand he takes the flowing wreath, 

And smiles, and calls it Amaryllis* lips ; 
Those lips, that on his own lips burn to breathe. 
Kisses to take, and kisses to bequeath ; — 
At once the youth, so blithe and debonnair, 
Points to the vale, that holds his fleecy care, 

Then o'er the rosy lawn in beauty trips ; 
Forsakes me, as he would a summer flow'r, 

He leaves to flourish on its parent stem, 
To court the breezes of a transient hour, 
And then, to shrink beneath the tempest's lour, 

And bloom no more within its natal glen. 
O,' whither shall I fly ? my burning soul, 
Subdu'd to bondage, scorns the accurst controul : 
O, whither go, and leave far, far behind 
The chains mv tenderest affections bind ! 



SONNET TO CECILIA. 

Oh ! I have seen a lovely sight to-day ; 
Beauty adorn'd in gems of heav'nly birth; 
Such gems as weeping angels cast away, 
And love and pity, bringing down to earth, 
Pour into sorrow's lap. Cecilia weeps. 
Tears are the vanquished voice's deputies, 
Whose eloquence from the essaying eyes 
Flows, and the soul in sweet Elysian steeps. 
As conscious roses, dash'd upon the snow 
Of maiden purity, bespeak it fair : 
So tears that female bosoms overO^w, 
Attest that ev'ry kindly virtue dweilcth there. 



TO IANTHE, 

YOU say, when Love affects the brain 

And in the bosom wildly glows, 
The language of the eye is plain, 

The cheek's carnation comes and goes. 

Though sometimes thus, not always so 
It spreads the flush, and lights the eyes, 

For love, matured by time, will shew 
No token of a boy's surprise. 

It sinks — it settles in the heart, 

And mingles with the spirits there ; 

'Till of the soul it forms a part, 
That does not waste itself in air. 

1 Tis like the gentle star of eve, 

Whose march is calm, whose beams are pure ; 
While cheeks that blush, and breasts that heave, 

Are like a meteor o'er a moor. 

They throw their flaring lights afar, 

And daunt and sparkle all about, 
But a few short days their lustre mar, 

And the breath of Reason blows them out. 

Yet wherefore do I talk of love, 

To one so fair but cold as thee ? 
'Tis idle as to strive to move 

The earth, or drink the boundless sea. 

It seems that f ?«c has from the skies 
Dispatched ihee to the earth below, 

To burn us with thy radiant eyes, 

And freeze us with thy breast of snow. 



itoenw. 



BY GEORGE ROBERTSON, JUN,, 

Of Savannah, Georgia. 



|9o*mjg. 



THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. 

Hark ! hark ! on the ear, the slow death-note 

swells high, 
And the tear of regret falls from each manly eye, 

Though mute is the voice of their sorrow ; 
Sad in unison waving seems each nodding plume 
To the deep lengthen'd roll of the crape-muffled 
drum, 
Whilst the corse of their comrade they follow. 

He died not in battle, he fell not in strife, 
To the hand of no foeman he gave up his life, 

With his comrades contending around him ; 
On the bed of disease, while he languish'd in pain, 
Where the craven and brave find resistance in vain, 

Pale and wan the grim conqueror found him. 

But yet though he fell not in battle's commotion, 
Tho' he prov'd not in contest his patriot devotion, 

Tho' he died not encircled with glory; 
Tho' no sculptured marble shall proud jy rise o'er 

him, 
Tho' fame with her pen shall never restore him 

To life and remembrance in story; — 

The sighs of his comrades shall fan the pure flame 
That burns in each breast to his much honor'd 
name, 
With pious care nourish'd for ever ; 



288 FAREWELL. 

And the tear from the dimm'd eye of mild beauty 

shed, 
Shall bathe the pure flowers that spring at his head, 
And bloom to his memory ever. 



A FRAGMENT. 

There's not in time so dear an hour, 
There's not in spring so sweet a flower * 
There's not a balmy breathing gale 
With rifled sweets of hill and vale ; 
There's not a joy to mortals given, 
Not quite of earth, but nearer Heaven ; 
Like that when two young bosoms press 
And first exchange love's sweet caress, 
And sighing breathe the hallow 'd name 
Which lights within the mutual flame. 
I would not give one hour like this, 
One moment of such thrilling bliss, 
For all the gew-gaws of a throne, 
Or all that greatness calls its own. 



FAREWELL. 

The heart, that once has beat 

With passion's soft excess, 
May other fair ones meet 

And share the kind caress ; 
Yet can it e'er forget 

The form it garner' d there, 
When kindling glances met 

And blush' d the trembling fair; 



ODE FOR ST. ANDREW S DAY. 289 

When love was young and witching smilVl, 
And traitress hope the heart begiuTd ? 

The days are gone when bright 

Thy eyes upon me beam'd, 
When lit with pure delight, 

They brightest, loveliest, seem'd— 
O ! that transporting glow 

Shall warm its coldness ever, 
In fortune's weal or woe, 
Forget it I can never. 
Farewell — though happier youths adore, 
Yet none there are can love thee more. 



ODE FOR ST. ANDREW'S DAY. 

Tune—" Hail to the Chief."* 

Hatl to the day to old Scotia made holy, 

That smil'd on her Saint when it gave him his 
birth ; 
Long shall her fame be remember' d in story, 
When sceptres and empires have crumbled to 
earth. 

Remember 1 d her deeds in arms, 
Her valour mid wars alarms, 
When discord wav'd high his red banner in air, 
When every temper'd steel. 
Made every f'oeman feel, 
That Scotia, and Valour, and Justice were there, 

Land of brown heath, of torrent and mountain, 
Towering sublime o'er the nations around ; 

N 



290 TO MIRA. 

Land of the forest, the glen and the fountain, 
Thy bards long shall hallow thy pure classic 
ground. 

Twine then the wreath of fame, 
To every honour'd name, 
The fire of whose genius was kindled by thee, 
Loud let our pasans ring 
Whilst with thy bards we sing, 
Scotia, the land of the learn'd and the free. 

Land of our Sires ! now in glory descended, 
To the tomb where our Bruce and our Wallace 
repose ; 
Green be the sod which their valour defended, 
That soil e'er be honour'd where patriot blood 
flows. 

Ne'er may a recreant hand 
Sever the sacred band, 
That still binds us fast to thy sea-beaten shore ; 
" With lion heart and eagle eye," 
For thee may our hearts beat high, 
Till Freedom, and Scotia, and Time are no more. 



TO MIRA. 



Go, Mira, go ! where happier hours, 

And other joys attend thee; 
Still may thy path be strewed with flowV;?, 

Good angels e'er befriend thee — 
Yet forget me not ! 



TO ELIZA. 291 

When light hearts fawn and flatter most, 
And how the knee before thee, 

And falsely swear, and idly boast, 
They sigh for and adore thee— 
Then forget me not ! 

And when thy heart is fixed fore'er, 
May he thou lov'st deserve thee— 

Bless'd with thy love, his only care 
To guard, protect, preserve thee— 
O ! then forget me ! 

And in that peaceful, happy state, 

The care of powers above thee, 
Oh ! think not on that wretch's fate, 

Who weeps, but may not love thee— 
Forever then forget me .' 



TO ELIZA. 

I have lov'd thee, dear girl, and whilst the blood 
flows 

Thro' my heart, thou shalt ne'er be forgot ; 
In the beam of that eye what bosom but glows, 

Who that ever has seen thee, lov'd not! 

The sun shines on all, and all bless the pure flame, 
Tho' a cloud may his radiance impair, 

Then when joy from thy eye bcam'd on all, who's 
to blame, 
If I thoughtlessly hop'd for a share? 



l 292 SERENADE. 

There's a creature, they say, of angel-like face, 
That tempts the young hunter astray, 

That lures, fondly lures, to a fatal embrace, 
And smiles, but ah ! smiles to betray. 

Think not I upbraid : it was mercy to frown 
That hope, all too daring, to nought; 

'Twas kind to extinguish the flame, all thy own, 
From the source whence its fervour was caught. 

And yet shall I love thee — nay frown if you will 
'Tis thy smiles I have cause to deplore ; 

And tho' once I adored them, but frown on me still, 
And, by heaven ! I'll love thee the more. 



SERENADE, 

Wake, dearest, wake ! 

Thy own true lover calls ; 
Wake, loveliest, wake ! 

For cold the night-dew falls. 
But if thou dream'st 

Of him who lives for thee, 
Sleep, dearest, sleep, 

And waken not for me. 

Throbbing my heart 

Drinks rapture from thV eyes, 
Blest in the beam, 

Love's purest transports rise. 
Yet could I watch 

Forever o'er thy rest, — 
Why should we part, 

Pearest, loveliest, best ! 



love's first SIGH. 293 

By yon bright moon 

That chastely beams above, 
Yon twinkling stars, 

That smile upon our love, 
Dearer than hope 

Art thou to this fond heart ; 
Wake, dearest, wake ! 

And no more let us part. 



LOVE'S FIRST SIGH. 

If there's an hour more sweet, more blest, 

Amid life's chequer'd scene, 
If joy e'er filled the artless breast, 

Its cares and fears between, 
'Tis when the heart, it knows not why, 
With rapture fraught, breathes love's first sigh. 

How swiftly sweet the moments fly, 

Mid groves or fiow'ry dells, 
When fondly gazing on that eye, 

Where purest passion dwells, 
And the young bosom throbbing high, 
With fond alarms breathes love's first sigh. 

And tho' the time is ever fled, 

And past the joys it gave, 
Yet still shall memory sweetly shed-— 

Like moonbeams on the wave — 
A beam that yet shall light the eye, 
And cheer with thought of love's first sigh. 



N2 



I HAVE LOV'D THEE. 

I have lov'd thee— O ! lov'd thee too dearly, 
For mine I can call thee O ! never; 

I have lov'd thee — O ! lov'd too sincerely, 
For I lov'd but to lose thee forever. 

Hopesmil'd, fondly smil'd, ah ! smil'd but to cheat, 

Then left me to misery ever ; 
O ! the vision I bless'd, as I hugg'd the deceit, 

And I lov'd, but to lose thee forever. 

But, mayst thou be happy with him thou hast blest ; 

May peace from thy bosom ne'er sever : 
But, O ! heave a sigh for him— when at rest— 

Who lov'd but to lose thee forever. 

And when o'er his tomb the rank weed shall wave; 

For flowers shall bloom on it never — 
Qh ! drop a blest tear as you point out his grave. 

Who lov'd but to lose thee forever. 



THE FALLEN BRAVE. 

Hark ! that sigh — that anguish'd groan, 
A spirit lofty there has flown ; 

There patriot honour lies ; 
All motionless that manly form, 
That fiercely brav'd the battle's storm, 

And fix'd those lightning eyes. 

O ! who shall mourn the warrior slain, 
When death has burst the bonds in twain, 
Of friends and kiudred dear ; 



295 



Far in a foreign land's cold grave, 
Oh ! who shall mourn the Fallen Brave, 
Or drop affection's tear ? 

Brave youth ! thy solitary bier, 
Though far in deserts dark and drear 

By foreign footsteps trod, 
Thy country's grateful hand shall dress 
In flowers that scent the wilderness, 

And bloom upon thy sod. 

And mem'ry, smiling sweet, shall tell 
Where patriotism, virtue fell, 

At peerless honour's call ; 
And Fame shall echo oft the tale, 
And rising generations hail 

The glories of thy fall. 



Can the bosom find peace, 

Whose breathings are spurn'd ? 
Can his anguish e'er cease, 

Who has loved unreturn'd ? 
Light hearts may be joyous, 

Cold hearts may bound ever, 
But the heart that lov'd truly, 

Is blighted forever. 

Oh ! the breeze of the morn, 

Breathes the sweets of the vale, 
But its sweets are all rifled, 

When sweeps the rude gale — 
And the rose-bud that blush'd 

With its loveliest glow, 
As zephyr us kiss'd it, 

Lies scentless and low. 



296 STANZAS. 

The purplc-crown'd morning, 

Is lovely to see- 
But lovelier far 

Is woman's dark e'e. 
Clouds may low'r and pass — 

Skies beam as before, 
But the heart that's o'ershadow'd 

Can never beam more. 

O ! woman ! too lovely, 

Too heav'nly, wer't thou, 
If thy heart were as pure 

As the snow of thy brow : 
And man undeserving 

A boon so divine, 
Would, forgetful of heaven, 

Kneel but at thy shrine. 

But the being heav'n form'd 

To bless life's dull hours, 
And to dress its bleak path 

With its sweetest of flowers, 
Was ordain'd to allure — 

Ah ! too oft to betray — 
And inspire with a passion, 

That ne'er can decay. 

And peace can ne'er visit 

The heart that is spurn'd— 
There's no hope for the anguish 

Of love unreturn'd. 
Light hearts may be joyous, 

Cold hearts feel not ever, 
But the heart that lov'd truly, 

is blighted forever. 



$Sti$cellantQU$* 



THE KING OF THE BAY. 
A Ballad, faithfully translated from the Narragansett dialect. 

Not far from Apponaug lived Molly the Fair, 

A belle in the pride of her glory, 
In a fine situation for taking the air, 
"Which no one will deny who has ever been there ; 

If he does, 'twill not injure my story. 

In a gable-roofed house, by the side of the road, 

She dwelt with a heart void of care ; 
A chimney of stone, in the old-fashioned mode, 
Crowned the roof of her low and romantic abode, 
"Which was something in want of repair. 

One eve, as fair Molly had set herself down, 

Pounding spice in a huge wooden mortar, 
A waggoner stopt, just returning from town, 
His coat was snuffcolour'd,his trowsers were brown, 
And asked for a mug of cold water. 

" O, yes," says the maiden — The stranger remains 

At the gate, at the side of his waggon, 
(Within which some hay and a rundlet remains, 
A beef's head by the nose hung above in the chains,) 
To wait for the maid and her flagon. 

The maid soon appear'd with her flagon so bright, 
'Tv/as pewter, and fill'd with sweet cider ; 

He seized it with haste, and drank with delight; 

He look'd at the maid (who was six feet in height), 
Lord ha' mercy ! how sharply he eyed her. 

In a twinkling, the form of a monster he took, 
The waggon had vanished from view— * 



298 THE KING OF THE BAY. 

The maid with surprise and astonishment shook, 
And gave o'er her shoulder a terrified look, 
Her eyes not a little askew. 

His hair, of black seaweed, is wound like a wreath, 

His nose like a lobster appears, 
A beard of thick eel-grass is hanging beneath, 
While two rows of huge barnacles serve him for 
teeth, 

And two overgrown clam-shells for ears. 

" Who are you?" Fair Molly with eagerness said. 

" No being of earth, pretty maiden— 
I'm a god of the sea, you perceive by my head ; 
The sharks and the blue-fish behold me with dread, 

And I rule the Tautaug and Menhaden. 

" The King of the Bay Narragansett I've been, 

Since the stars and the planets have kept tune ; 
My crown" — this was said with a complaisant grin, 
Which showed the enormous extent of his chin, 
" I received from my great uncle Neptune. 

" But Molly, I'm tired of a bachelor's life, 
For a change I've been some time preparing ; 

And though marriage, I hear, has its troubles and 
strife, 

J at length have concluded to make you my wife- 
Why, Lord, how the woman is staring ! 

" All my subjects will gaze, and behold us with 
pride, 
As we range through our kingdom together ; 
While the world shall remain you shall live as my 

bride, 
You shall rule all the shell- fish and eels, and shall 
ride 
On a shovel- nosed shark in bad weather !" 



STANZAS. 299 

Then he whisked her, while screaming with terror, 
away ; — 

To a rock in North Kingston he brought her ; 
And the mark of their feet, as the old women say — 
Impressed in the rock, may be seen at this day,* 

Where he jumped with her into the water. 



* This is no fiction, the rock is there and can speak for itself, 



STANZAS. 
[By R. H. Wilde, Esq. a distinguished Advocate of Georgia,] 

My life is like the summer rose, 
That opens to the morning sky, 
But ere the shades of evening close, 
Js scattered on the ground to die ; 
Yet on that rose's humble bed 
The sweetest dews of night are shed, 
As if she wept such waste to see, 
But none shall weep a tear for me. 

My life is like the autumn leaf, 
That trembles in the moon's pale ray, 
Its hold is frail, its date is brief, 
Restless, and soon to pass away ; 
Yet ere that leaf shall fall and fade, 
The parent tree shall mourn its shade, 
The winds bewail the leafless tree, 
But none shall breathe a sigh for me. 

My life is like the prints, which feet 
Have left on Tcmpe's desert strand, 
Soon as the rising tide shall beat, 
All trace will vanish from the sand ; 



\ 



500 ANSWER. 

Yet, as if grieving to efface, 

All vistage of the human race, 

On that lone shore loud mourns the sea, 

But none, alas ! shall mourn for me. 

ANSWER. 
[By a Lady of Baltimore] 

The dews of night may fall from Heaven 
Upon the wither'd rose's bed, 
And tears of fond regret be given, 
To mourn the virtues of the dead : 
Yet morning's sun the dews will dry, 
And tears will fade from sorrow's eye, 
Affection's pangs be lull'd to sleep, 
And even love forget to weep. 

The tree may mourn its fallen leaf, 
And autumn winds bewail its bloom, 
And friends may heave the sigh of grief 
O'er those who sleep within the tomb ; 
Yet soon will spring renew the flowers, 
And time will bring more smiling hours, 
In friendship's heart all grief will die, 
And even love forget to sigh. 

The sea may on the desert shore 
Lament each trace it tears away, 
The lonely heart its grief may pour 
O'er cherish'd friendship's fast decay ; 
Yet when all trace is lost and gone, 
The waves dance bright and gaily on — 
Thus, soon affection's bonds are torn, 
And even love forgets to mouru. 



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COLUMBIAN LYRE 



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EMBRACING SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF PER- ^fljf. 

civai, broo;:p, wxa other poets of the united 

!'ATJv OF AMERICA, 

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1823. 



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